®t)e  Hibrarp 

of  tfje 

®[nibers!itp  of  iSortJ  Carolina 


Collection  of  Movti)  Caroliniana 
C8I3 


This  book  must  not 
be  token  from  the 
Library  building. 


Form  No.  471 


FAIRY     GOLD 


5y  CHRISTIAN   REID 

Author  of'Vera's  Charge,"  "Philip's  Restitution,"  "A  Child  of 
Mary,"  "His  Victory,"  etc. 


THE  AVE  MARIA   PRESS 

NOTRE    DAME,  INDIANA 


COPYWRIGHT,    1897, 
BY 

D.  E.  HUDSON. 


FAIRY  GOLD 


> 


FAIRY    GOLD. 


PRELUDE. 

CLAIRE!  do  stop  that  tiresome  practicing  and 
come  here.     Helen  and  I  want  you." 

Tlie  voice  was  very  clear  and  vibrating,  and 
had  a  ring  of  command  in  it  as  it  uttei'ed  these  words; 
while  the  summer  dusk  was  dying  away,  and  the 
summer  air  came  soft  and  sweet  into  the  school- 
room of  a  convent,  that,  from  the  eminence  on  which 
it  stood,  overlooked  a  cit}'  at  its  feet,  and  the  rise 
and  fall  of  Atlantic  tides.  It  was  drawing  toward  the 
close  of  the  exercise-hour,  but  the  two  girls  who  stood 
together  in  school-girl  fashion  beside  an  open  window, 
and  the  third,  who  in  an  adjoining  music-room  was 
diligently  practicing  Cliopin,  were  not  the  only  ones 
who  had  neglected  its  observance  and  incurred  no 
rel)uke ;  for  was  not  to  morrow  the  end  of  the  scho- 
lastic 3'ear,  and  did  not  relaxation  of  rules  alread}' 
reign  from  dormitory  to  class-room? 

Man}'  hearts  were  beating  high  at  the  thought  of 
the  freedom  which  that  morrow  would  bring;  man}' 

(O 


2  FAIEY    GOLD. 

dreams  were  woven  of  the  bright  world  which  lay 
beyond  these  quiet  shades ;  of  pleasures  which  were 
to  replace  the  monotonous  roun<l  of  occupation  in 
which  youth  had  so  far  been  spent  —  the  round  of 
lessons  from  teachers  whose  voices  were  gentle  as 
their  faces  were  holy  and  serene  ;  of  quiet  meditations 
in  the  beautiful  chapel,  with  its  sculptured  altar  and 
stained-glass  windows  and  never-dying  lamp ;  of 
walks  in  the  green  old  garden,  and  romps  along  its 
far-stretching  alleys.  They  were  ready  to  leave  it  all 
behind,  these  careless  bii'ds,  eager  to  try  their  new- 
fledcred  wiuo-s  :  and  when  the  heat  and  burden  of  the 
day  should  come  down  upon  them,  how  much  they 
would  give  for  one  hour  of  the  old  quiet  peace,  the 
old  happy  ignorance ! 

And  among  them  all  no  face  was  more  bright  with 
triumphant  hope  —  or  was  it  triumphant  resolve?  — 
than  hers  whose  voice  went  ringing  through  the  almost 
deserted  school-room,  in  the  half-entreaty,  half-com- 
mand recorded  above. 

The  sound  of  the  piano  ceased  on  the  instant ;  a 
slight  rustling  followed,  as  of  music  being  put  away; 
and  then  a  girl  came  down  the  middle  aisle  of  desks, 
toward  the  window  which  overlooked  the  garden  and 
faced  the  glowing  western  sky,  where  the  two  girls 
were  standing,  both  of  whom  turned  as  she  advanced. 

"You  must  pardon  me,"  she  said,  in  a  tone  of 
apology.  ''I  did  not  mean  to  stay  so  long,  but  I 
forget  myself  when  I  am  at  the  piano,  and  I  could 
scarcely  bear  to  think  that  this  was  my  last  hour  of 
practice." 

"  I  am  quite  sure  that  it  will  not  be  your  last  hour 
of  practice,"    said   the   girl  who   had    spoken    first. 


FAIRY    GOLD.  6 

"You  are  too  fond  of  drudijerv  for  that.  But  how 
caa  30U  talk  of  not  bearing  to  think  of  its  being  the 
last  here,  when  Helen  and  I  have  been  congratulating 
each  other  on  the  fact  until  we  exhausted  ail  our 
expressions  of  pleasure,  and  had  to  call  on  3'ou  to 
hell)  us?" 

"  Then  you  would  have  done  better  to  let  me  finish 
my  i^racticing,"  said  the  other,  with  a  faint  smile; 
"  for  I  cannot  help  you  with  one  expression  of  pleasure : 
I  am  too  sorry. ' ' 

"  Sorry!  " —  it  was  the  one  called  Helen  who  broke 
in  here.  "  Oh!  how  can  3'ou  say  that,  when  we  are 
going  home  to  be  so  happy?  " 

"  You  are  going  home,  dear,"  remarked  Claii-e, 
gently. 

"  And  are  not  you  ?  Is  not  my  home  your  home,, 
and  will  I  not  be  hurt  if  you  do  not  feel  it  so?  " 

"  You  are  very  kind,  dear,"  said  Claire ;  "  but  3'ou 
ca;nnot  give  me  what  God  has  denied.  Perhaps  I  too 
might  be  glad  of  to-morrow,  Helen,  if  I  had  your 
future  or  Marion's  courage ;  but,  lacking  both,  I 
only  feel  afraid  and  sad.  I  feel  as  if  I  should  like  to 
stay  here  forever  —  as  if  I  were  being  puslied  out 
into  a  world  with  which  1  am  not  able  to  cope." 

"  But  a  world  which  shall  never  harm  j'ou  so  long 
as  my  love  and  Marion's  courage  can  help  you,"  said 
Helen,  as  she  passed  her  disengaged  arm  around  tlie 
slender  form.  "  Y''ou  know  we  three  are  pledged  to 
stand  together  as  long  as  we  live;  are  we  not, 
Marion?" 

"  I  know  that  Claire  is  ver^'  foolish,"  answered 
Marion.  "  If  I  had  her  talent  I  should  be  eager  to 
go  into  the  world  —  eager  to  cope  with  and  overcome 


4  FAIRY   GOLD. 

it.  Everyone  says  that  she  is  certain  to  succeed,  and 
of  all  the  gifts  in  the  world  fame  must  he  the 
sweetest," 

"I  suppose  it  is,"  said  Claire;  "but  I  know 
enough  of  art  —  just  enough  —  to  be  aware  that  it  is 
a  long  journey  before  one  can  even  dream  of  fame. 
I  love  to  paint  —  oli !  yes,  better  than  anything 
else,  —  but  I  know  what  difficult  work  lies  before  me 
in  becoming  an  artist.". 

"  Yet  you  do  not  mind  work,"  observed  Helen,  in 
a  wondering  tone. 

"No,"  answered  the  other,  "not  here,  where  I 
had  help  and  encouragement  and  the  sense  of  safe 
shelter.  But  out  in  the  world,  where  I  shall  have 
only  myself  to  look  to,  and  no  one  to  care  whether  I 
fail  or  not  —  well,  I  confess  my  courage  ebbs  as  1 
think  of  that." 

"  Ilow  strange!"  said  Marion.  "If  my  hands 
were  as  free  as  yours  are,  1  should  like  nothing 
better  than  for  them  to  be  as  empty  —  if  you  can  call 
hands  empty  that  have  such  a  power." 

"And  are  not  your  hands  as  free  as  mine.^  "  asked 
the  other.     "  We  are  both  orphans,  and  both —  " 

"  Poor,"  said  Marion,  frankly.  "  Yes,  but  with  a 
diffirence.  Most  people,  I  suppose,  would  Ihink  the 
difference  in  my  favor ;  /  think  it  is  in  yours.  Y'ou 
have  no  family  obligations  to  prevent  your  doing 
what  you  will  with  your  life,  from  following  the  bt-nt 
of  your  genius ;  while  I  —  well,  it  is  true  I  have  no 
genius,  but  if  I  had  it  would  be  all  the  same.  My 
uncle  would  never  consent  to  my  doing  anything  to 
lower  the  family  di^^nity,  and  I  owe  him  enough  to 
make  me  feel  bound  to  respect  his  wishes." 


FAini"    GOLD.  5 

"  It  is  well  to  have  s  )in  •  oa>  w'lose  wishes  one  is 
bound  to  respert,"  said  CI  are  geutl}',  and  tiieu  a 
silence  fell. 

They  were  decided  contrasts,  these  three  girls,  as 
they  stood  together  by  the  open  window,  and  looked 
out  on  the  bright  sunset  and  down  into  the  large 
garden ; —  decided  contrasts,  yet  all  possessed  in 
greater  or  less  degree  the  gift  of  beauty. 

It  was  certainly  in  greater  degree  with  Marion 
Lynde,  whose  daily  expanding  lovehness  had  been 
the  marvel  of  all  who  saw  her  for  two  years  past; — 
the  marvel  even  in  this  quiet  convent,  where  human 
aspect  was  perhaps  of  less  account  than  anywhere  else 
on  all  God's  earth.  The  little  children  had  looked 
with  admiration  on  her  brilliant  face,  the  older  girls 
had  gazed  on  it  with  throbs  of  unconscious  envy  ;  the 
nuns  had  glanced  pityingly  at  the  girl  who  bore  so 
proudly  that  often  fatal  dower;  and  many  times  the 
Mother  Superior  had  sent  up  a  special  prayer  for  this 
defiant  soldier  of  life,  when  she  saw  her  kneeling  at 
Mass  or  Benediction  with  a  many-tinted  glory  streaiu- 
ing  over  her  head. 

As  she  stood  now  in  her  simple  school  dress,  Maiion 
was  a  i)icture  of  strikin^^  beauty.  Tall,  slight,  grace- 
ful, there  wjs  i.i  (ler  iirace  something  imperial  and 
unlike  other  women,  lier  while  skin,  finely  grained 
and  colorless  as  the  petal  of  a  lily,  suited  the  regular, 
clear-cut  features ;  while  her  eyes  were  large  and 
dark  —  splendid  eyes,  which  seemed  to  carry  lustre  in 
their  sweeping  glance, —  and  her  hair  was  a  mass  of 
red  gold.  Altogether  a  face  to  studv  with  a  sense  of 
tiitistie  pleasure, —  a  face  to  admire  as  one  admires  a 
stiitue  or  a  painting;   but  not  a  face  that  attracted  or 


6  FAIRY    GdLD. 

wakened  love,  as  many  less  beautiful  faces  do,  or  as 
that  of  her  cousin,  Helen  Morley,  did. 

For  everyone  loved  Helen  —  a  winsome  creature, 
with  lips  that  seemed  formed  only  for  smiles,  and 
hands  ever  ready  to  caress  and  aid  ;  with  endearing 
ways  that  the  hardest  heart  could  not  have  resisted, 
and  a  heaven-born  capacity  for  loving  that  seemed 
inexhaustible.  It  was  impossible  to  look  on  the  bright 
young  face  and  think  that  sorrow  could  ever  darken  it, 
or  that  tears  would  ever  dim  the  clear  violet  of  those 
joyous  eyes.  From  the  Mother  Superior  down  to  the 
youngest  scholar,  all  loved  the  girl,  and  all  recognized 
how  entirely  she  seemed  marked  out  for  happy  des- 
tinies. "  You  must  not  let  the  brightness  of  this 
world  veil  Heaven  from  your  sight,  my  child,"  the 
nuns  would  say,  as  they  laid  their  hands  on  the  silken- 
soft  head,  and  longed  to  hold  back  from  the  turmoil 
of  life  this  white  dove,  whose  wings  were  already 
spread  for  flight  from  the  quiet  haven  where  they  had 
been  folded  for  a  time. 

Least  beautiful  of  the  three  girls  was  Claire  Alford, — 
a  girl  whose  reserved  manner  had  perhaps  kept  love 
as  well  as  familiarity  at  bay  duiing  the  years  of  her 
convent  tutelage.  Even  Marion,  with  all  her  haughty 
waywardness,  had  more  friends  than  this  quiet 
student.  Yet  no  one  could  find  fault  with  Claire. 
She  was  always  considerate  and  gentle,  quick  to 
oblige  and  slow  to  take  offense.  But  she  lived  a  life 
absorbed  within  itself,  and  those  around  her  felt 
this.  They  felt  that  her  eyes  were  fixed  on  some  dis- 
tant goal,  to  which  every  thought  of  her  mind  and 
effort  of  her  nature  was  directed. 

The  only  child  and  orphan  of  a  struggling  artist  — 


FAIBY    GOLD.  7 

a  man  of  genius,  but  who  died  before  he  conquered 
the  recognition  of  the  world, —  Claire  knew  that  her 
slender  fortune  would  hardly  suffice  for  the  expenses 
of  her  education,  and  that  afterward  she  must  look 
for  aid  to  herself  alone.  Usually  life  goes  hard  with 
a  woman  under  such  circumstances  as  these.  But 
Claire  had  one  power  as  a  weapon  with  which  to  fight 
her  way.  Her  talent  for  painting  had  been  the  aston- 
ishment of  all  her  teachers,  and  it  was  a  settled  thing 
that  she  would  make  art  the  object  and  pursuit  of  her 
life.  Jf  least  beautiful  of  the  three  girls  who  stood 
there  together,  an  observant  glance  might  have  lin- 
gered longest  on  her.  There  was  something  very 
attractive  in  the  gray  eyes  that  gazed  so  steadily  from 
under  their  long  lashes,  and  in  the  smile  that  stii'red 
now  and  then  the  usually  grave  and  gentle  lips. 

It  only  remains  to  be  added  that  both  Claire  and 
Helen  were  Catholics,  while  Marion  had  been  brought 
up  in  Protestaniisra,  which  resulted,  in  her  case,  in 
absolute  religious  indifference. 

The  silence  had  lasted  for  some  time,  when  Helen's 
voice  at  last  broke  it,  saying:  — 

"  You  are  riglit,  Claire.  It  does  make  one  sad  to 
think  that  we  are  standing  together  for  the  last  time 
in  our  dear  o'd  school-room.  We  have  been  so  happy 
here!  J  wonder  if  we  shall  be  veyy  much  more  happy 
out  in  the  world?  " 

"  I  doubt  if  we  shall  ever  be  half  as  happy  again," 
answered  Claire. 

"  Oh,  you  prophet  of  evil!   Wh}^  not?  " 

"Why  not,  Helen!"  repeated  Claire.  "Because 
I  doubt  if  we  shall  ever  again  feel  so  entirely  at  peace 
with  ourselves  and  with  others  as  we  have  felt  here." 


8  FAIRY    GOLD. 

"It  is  a  very  nice  place,"  observed  Helen;  "  and 
I  love  the  Mother  Superior  and  all  the  Sisters  dearly. 
But,  tlien,  of  course,  I  want  to  see  mamma  and  Harry 
and  little  Jock.  I  want  t'l  ride  Brown  Bess  again, 
and  I  do  want  to  go  to  a  party   Claire." 

"Well,"  said  Claire,  smiling,  "  I  suppose  there  is 
no  doubt  that  you  will  go  to  a  good  many  parlies, 
and  I  hope  you  will  enjoy  them." 

"  There  is  no  doubt  of  her  enjoyment,'"  interpos  d 
Marion,  speaking  in  her  usual  half  satiric  tone,  ••  if 
Paul  Rathborne  is  to  be  there." 

"  I  was  not  thinking  of  Paul  Rathborne,  and 
neither,  I  am  sure,  was  Helen,"  said  Claire. 

"That  is  likel}' !  "  cried  Marion,  laughing. 
"Don't,  Helen!  I  would  not  tell  a  storj^  to  oblige 
Claire,  if  I  were  you." 

But  Helen  had  apparently  little  idea  of  telling  the 
stor}'.  Even  in  the  dusk,  the  flush  that  overspread 
her  face  was  visible,  and  the  lids  drooped  over  the 
violet  eyes. 

"  At  all  events,  we  will  not  talk  of  him,"  said 
Claire,  decidedly.  "  We  will  talk  of  ourselves  and  our 
own  futures.  We  are  standing  on  the  thresbold  of  a 
new  life,  and  surely  we  mav  spare  a  little  time  in 
witnderiii'^  how  it  will  fnr.'  wiMi  ii-^  .Mnrion.  what 
do  _\  ou  say  ?  "' 

"  If  one  may  judge  the  future  by  the  past,  I  should 
say,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned,  badl}^  enough,"  Marion 
replied.  "  But  whether  I  alter  matters  for  better  or 
for  worse,  I  don't  mean  to  go  on  in  the  snme  old  way  ; 
I  shall  change  the  road,  if  I  don't  mend  it." 

'•  Change  it  in  what  manner?  " 

"I  don't  know  exactly.      Cii'cumst-.inces  will   have 


FAIRY    GOLD.  9 

to  decide  that  for  me.  But  I  don't  mean  to  go  back 
to  my  uncle's.  lo  share  the  fntnily  econoinii  s.  and  hear 
ilie  fannly  complaints,  and  wear  Adela's  olil  dr<s-es  ; 
you  ma}'  be  sure  of  that,  Claire !  " 

"  But  how  can  you  avoid  it,"  asked  Claire.  ''  when 
you  have  just  said  that  you  will  not  disregard  your 
uncle's  wishes  by  attempting  to  support  yourself .''  " 

"  I  shall  not  do  anything  to  hurt  the  Lynde  pride," 
answered  the  girl,  mockingly.  "  I  shall  only  take  my 
gifts  of  body  and  mind  into  the  world,  and  see  what  I 
can  make  of  tliem." 

"Make  of  them!"  repeated  Helen.  "In  what 
way?" 

"  There  is  only  one  way  that  I  care  about,"  returned 
the  other,  carelessly  :   "  the  way  of  a  fortune." 

"Oh!  I  understand:  you  mean  to  marry  a  lich 
man." 

"  I  mean  that  only  as  a  last  resort.  The  world 
would  tliink  worse  of  me  if  I  robbed  a  man  of  his  for- 
tune ;  but  I  should  think  worse  of  m3'self,  and  wrong 
him  more,  if  I  married  him  to  obtain  it.  No,  Helen, 
I  shall  not  do  that  —  if  I  can  help  it." 

"  But  you  would  not  be  wronging  him,  Marion,  if 
5'ou  loved  him." 

"  And  do  you  think,"  demanded  the  young  cynic, 
"  that  one  is  likely  to  love  the  man  it  is  best  for  one 
to  marry?  " 

"  Yes,  I  think  so  —  I  know  sn." 

"  Ah!  well,  perhaps  it  may  be  so  to  sucli  a  child 
of  happy  fate  as  you  are,  but  it  is  never  likely  to 
occur  to  me." 

"  And  is  a  fortune  all  that  you  mean  to  look  for  ia 
life?"  aske.l  Helen. 


10  FAIRY    GOLD. 

"  Why  should  I  look  for  anj'thing  more?  Does  not 
that  comprise  evrrything?  Ah!  you  have  never 
known  the  bitterness  of  proverty,  or  you  would  not 
doubt  that  when  one  has  fortune,  one  has  all  that  is 
uecc'ssarj'  for  happiness." 

"But  I  have  known  poverty,"  broke  in  Claire; 
"  and  I  know,  Marion,  that  there  are  many  worse 
things  in  life  than  want  of  money,  and  many  better 
things  than  possessing  it." 

"  That  is  all  you  know  about  the  matter,"  replied 
Marion,  with  an  air  of  scorn,  "  Perhaps  I,  too, 
might  be  able  to  feel  in  that  way,  if  I  had  known  onh' 
the  poverty  that  3'ou  have  —  a  picturesque,  Bohemian 
poverty,  with  no  necessitj^  to  pretend  1o  be  what  you 
were  not.  But  genteel  poverty,  which  must  keep  up 
appearances  by  a  hundred  makeshifts  and  embarrass- 
ments and  meannesses  —  have  you  ever  known  that? 
It  has  been  the  experience  of  my  life, — one  wliich  I 
shudder  to  recall,  and  which  I  would  sooner  die  than 
go  back  to." 

"  Poor  darling!  3'ou  shall  not  go  back  to  it,"  cried 
Helen. 

But  Marion  threw  off  her  caressing  hand. 

"  Don't,  Helen!  "  she  said,  sharply.  "  I  can't  bear 
pity,  even  from  you.  But  I  have  talked  enough  of 
myself.  You  both  know  what  I  am  going  to  do :  to 
make  a  fortune  b}'  some  means.  Now  it  is  your  turn, 
Claire,  to  tell  your  ambition." 

"  You  know  it  very  well,"  answered  Claire,  quietly. 
"I  am  going  to  be  an  artist,  and  perhaps,  if  God 
helps  me,  to  make  a  name." 

"Yes,  1  know,"  said  Marion,  gloomil}'.  "Yours 
is  a  noble  ambition,  and  I  think  30U  will  succeed." 


FAlllY    GOLD.  11 

"  I  hope  so,"  respondeti  Claire,  looking  out  on  the 
•sunset  with  her  earnest  e3-es.  "  At  least  I  know  that 
I  have  resolution  and  perseverance,  and  I  used  lo  hear 
mv  father  sa}"-  that  with  those  things  even  mediocre 
talent  could  do  much." 

"  And  yours  is  not  mediocre.  Yet  you  talk  of  be- 
ing sorry  to  leave  here,  with  such  a  prospect  before 
you." 

"  Such  a  battle,  too.  And  peo[»le  say  tliat  the 
world  is  very  hard  and  stern  to  those  who  light  it 
single-handed." 

"  So  much  the  better!  "  cried  Marion,  flinging  back 
her  head  with  an  air  of  defiance.  "  There  will  be  so 
much  the  more  glory  in  triumph." 

"  You  never  seem  to  think  of  failure,"  observed 
Claire,  with  a  smile.  "  But  now  Helen  must  tell  us 
what  she  desires  her  future  to  be." 

"Mine?"  said  Helen.  "Oh!  1  leave  all  such 
things  as  fortune  and  fame  to  xow  and  Marion.  I 
mean  oul}'  to  be  happy." 

"  To  be  happy!  "  repeated  Marion  "  Well,  I  ad- 
mire yowY  modesty.  You  have  set  up  for  yourself  a 
much  more  difficult  aim  than  either  Claire's  or  my 
own.  And  how  do  you  mean  to  be  happy .''  That  is 
the  next  question." 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Helen,  with  a  laugh.  "  I 
just  mean  to  go  home  to  enjoy  myself ;  that  is  all. 
And  how  happy  it  makes  me  to  think  thatj'ou  are  both 
2;oinor  with  me  !  " 

"Dear  little  Helen!"  said  Claire,  caressingly. 
"  But  it  will  not  make  you  unhappy  to  hear  that  I  am 
not  going  with  3'ou,  will  it?  I  have  just  found  out 
that  I  can  not  go." 


12  FAIL')'    GOLD. 

"  Not  go!  "  repeated  Helen.  The  <1eei)est  surprise 
:uil  iloU|)|)()iiitiiu'iit  were  written  on  lier  face.  "  O, 
Claire,  it  is  impossible  that  you  c:in  mean  it  —  i  hat 
you  can  be  so  unkind!  Why  do  you  sa}'  sucli  a 
thing?  " 

"I  say  it  because  it  is  true,  dear;  though  it  is  a 
greater  disappointment  to  me  than  to  you.  I  have 
just  had  a  letter  from  my  guardian,  telling  me  he  has 
found  an  opportunity  to  send  me  abroad  with  a  \a(.\y, 
an  acquaintance  of  his  own ;  and  I  have  no  choice  but 
to  go." 

"■  I  should  think  you  would  be  delighted  to  find  such 
an  opportunit}',"  said  Marion.  "  But  surely  the  lady 
is  not  going  to  Rome  at  this  season?  " 

"No:  she  is  going  to  Germany  for  the  summer, 
and  to  Italy  in  the  autumn  ;  which  is  a  very  good 
thing,  for  I  shall  see  the  galleries  of  Dresden  and 
Munich  before  I  go  to  Rome.  Of  course  I  am  glad  — 
I  must  be  glad  —  to  find  the  opportunity  at  once; 
but  I  had  promised  myself  the  pleasure  of  a  quiet, 
happy  month  with  Helen  and  you,  and  I  am  sorr}-  to 
lose  it." 

"It  is  too  bad,"  said  Helen,  with  a  sound  as  of 
tears  in  her  voice.  "  I  had  anticipated  so  much  pleas- 
ure in  our  all  three  being  together!  And  now —  why 
could  not  3'our  guardian  have  waited  to  find  the  lady, 
or  why  does  she  not  put  off  going  abroad  until  the 
autumn?  " 

"  Why,  in  short,  is  not  the  whole  scheme  of  things 
arranged  with  reference  to  one  insignificant  person 
called  Claire  Alfoid?"  replied  Claire,  laughing. 
"  No,  dear;  there  is  no  help  for  it.  1  must  give  up 
the  idea  of  a  short  rest  before  the  combat." 


FAIEY    GOLD.  13 

"And  now  there  is  no  telling  when  we  shall  all  he 
together  asrain!"  said  Helen.  "I  could  not  have 
believed  that  such  a  disai)pointment  was  in  store  for 
me." 

"  I  hope  3-ou  will  never  know  a  worse  one,"  re- 
marked Claire.  "  But  if  we  live,  we  must  meet  again 
some  day.  We  are  too  good  friends  to  suffer  such 
trifles  as  time  and  space  to  separate  us  always." 

"  But  you  are  going  so  far  awa5^  one  cannot  tell 
when  or  where  that  meeting  will  be,"  said  Helen,  still 

mournfully. 

"Perhaps  it  may  be  when  Marion  has  made  her 
foitiiue,  aud  asks  us  to  visit  her  castle,"  answered 
Claire.  ••  Marion,  have  you  formed  any  plans  as  to 
where  it  is  to  be  situated?    Marion,  don't  you  hear.?  " 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Marion,  starting.  "I  beg 
your  pardon,  but  I  was  thinking.  Did  you  say,  Claire, 
that  this  visit,  which  you  could  not  make,  wouhl  have 
been  a  rest  before  the  combat  to  you  ?  I  was  wonder- 
iuff  if  it  will  be  a  rest  to  me  or  a  besinnins  " 

She  spoke  half  dreamily,  and  neither  of  the  othero 
answered.  They  only  stood  with  the  sunset  glow  fall- 
ing on  their  fair  young  faces,  their  wistful  gaze  resting 
upon  each  other,  and  quite  silent,  until  a  bell  pealed 
softly  out  on  the  twihght  air,  aud  their  last  school-day 
ended  forever. 


CHAPTER    I. 

THERE  is  nothing  specially  attractive  about  Scar- 
borougli  —  a  town  which  nestles  among  green 

bills  near  the  foot  of  the  Blue  Ridge, —  except 
its  salubrious  and  delightful  climate,  which  has  long 
drawn  summer  visitors  from  the  lower  malarial  country  ; 
but  if  it  had  been  as  beautiful  as  Naples  or  as  far-famed 
as  Venice,  it  could  not  have  wakened  more  loving 
delight  than  that  which  shone  in  Helen  Morley's  eyes 
as  she  drew  near  it.  For  that  deeply- rooted  attach- 
ment to  familiar  scenes  —  to  those  aspects  of  nature 
on  which  the  eyes  first  opened,  and  which  to  the  child 
are  like  the  face  of  another  mother  —  was  as  strong 
in  her  as  it  is  in  most  people  of  affectionate  character. 
For  several  miles  before  the  train  reached  Scar- 
borough, she  was  calling  Marion's  attention  to  one 
familiar  landmark  after  another ;  and  when  finally  they 
stopped  at  the  station  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town, 
her  eagerness  knew  no  bounds. 

"  Come,  Marion;  here  we  are!  "  she  cried,  spring- 
ing up  hastily.  But  at  that  moment  the  car  was  burst 
open  by  a  tall  young  man,  who  entered,  followed  by 
two  small  boys,  upon  all  three  of  whom,  as  it  seemed 
to  Marion,  Helen,  with  a  glad  little  cry,  precipitated 
herself.     There  were  embraces,  kisses,  inquiries  for 

(14) 


FAIRY    GOLD.  15 

a  moment ;  then  the  young  man  turned  and  held  out 
his  hand,  saying,   "  This  is  JMiss  Lynde,  I  am  sure?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Helen,  turning  her  flushed,  smihng 
face.  "  And  this  is  my  cousin,  Frank  Mor'ey, 
Marion.  And  here  is  my  brother  Harry,  who  has 
ahiiost  grown  lo  be  a  man  since  I  went  away;  and 
here  is  httle  Jock." 

Marion  shook  hands  with  all  these  new  acquaint- 
ances ;  the  boys  seized  bags  and  baskets,  and  the 
vounff  man  led  the  way  from  the  car  and  assisted 
them  to  the  platform  outside,  near  which  a  laige  open 
carriage  was  standing,  with  a  broadly-smihng  ebony 
coachman,  whom  Helen  greeted  warmly.  Then  her 
cousin  told  her  that  she  had  better  drive  home  at 
once.  "  I  shall  stay  and  attend  to  the  trunks,  and 
will  see  you  later,"  he  said. 

So  Helen,  Marion,  and  the  boys  were  bundled  into 
the  carriage,  and  drove  away  through  the  streets  of 
Scarborough, —  Helen  explaining  that  her  home  was  at 
the  opposite  end  of  the  town  from  the  station.  "  In- 
deed we  are  quite  in  the  countr}',"  she  said:  "  and  I 
like  it  much  better  than  living  in  town." 

"  Who  would  wish  to  live  in  a  town  hke  this!  " 
asked  Marion,  eying  disdainfully  the  rural-looking 
streets  through  which  they  were  passing.  "  I  like  the 
overflowing  life,  the  roar  and  fret  of  a  great  city ;  but 
places  of  this  kind  seem  to  me  made  only  to  put 
people  to  sleep,  mentally  as  well  as  physically." 

"Oh,  Scarborough  is  a  very  nice  place  when  you 
know  it!  "  said  Helen,  in  arms  at  once  for  her  birth- 
place. "  And  I  assure  you  people  are  not  asleep  in 
it,  by  any  means." 

"These    young    gentlemen     certaini}^     look    wide 


16  FAIliY    GOLD. 

awake,"  resumed  Marion,  regarding  the  two  boys, 
who  were  in  turn  regarding  her  with  large  and  solemn 
eves.  "And  so  looked  your  cousin  —  very  wide 
awake  indeed." 

"Oh,  Frank  is  a  delightful  boy!"  exclaimed 
Helen ;   "  and  I  am  very  fond  of  him." 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Marion.  "I  hope 
you  wdl  be  fond  enough  of  him  to  keep  him  away 
from  me ;  for  if  I  abhor  anything,  it  is  a  boy  —  1 
mean  "  (with  a  glance  at  the  two  young  faces  before 
hir)  "  a  boy  who  fancies  himself  a  man." 

"  Frank  is  twenty  yet.rs  old,"  observed  Harry, 
who,  being  himself  ban  ly  ten,  naturally  regarded  this 
as'  a  venerable  age. 

"  So  I  imagined,"  replied  Marion  ;  "  and  twenty  is 
not  my  favorite  age  —  for  a  man.  Jock's  age  suits 
me  better.     Jock,  how  old  are  you?  " 

Jock  replied  that  he  was  seven ;  but  at  this  point 
an  exclamation  from  Helen  cut  the  conversation 
short;  for  now  they  were  rapidly  approaching  a  house 
situated  in  the  midst  of  large  grounds  on  the  out- 
skirts of  the  town,  — a  shade-embowered  dwelUng, 
on  the  broad  veranda  of  which  flitting  forms  were  to 
be  seen,  as  the  carriage  paused  a  moment  for  the 
gate  to  be  opened.  Helen  stood  up  and  eagerly 
waved  her  handkerchief;  then  they  drove  in,  swept 
around  a  large  circle  and  drew  up  before  an  open 
door,  from  which  jjoured  a  troop  of  eager  welcomers 
of  all  ages  and  colors. 

It  seemed  to  Marion  a  babel  of  sound  which 
<  nsuf'd  —  kisses,  welcomes,  hand-shakings,  ques- 
tions,—  then  she  was  swept  along  by  the  tide  into  the 
cool,    garnished  house,   and  thence  on   to  a  bowery 


FMllV    i.riiLlK  17 

chamber,  where  she  was  left  for  a  little  while  to  her- 
self: since  Helen  was,  after  all,  the  grand  object  of 
the  ovation,  and  it  was  into  Helen's  I'oom  that  the 
loyal  crowd  gatljered,  who  had  merely  given  to 
Marion  that  cor<]ial  w^elcome  which  no  stranger  ever 
fail.'fl  to  receive  on  a  Southern  threshold. 

Only  Helen's  mother —  who,  having  been  twice 
married,  was  now  Mrs.  Dalton  —  lingered  behind 
with  tiie  young  stranger,  and  looked  earnestly  into 
the  fair  face,  as  if  seeking  a  likeness. 

'•  You  are  very  little  like  your  mother,  my  dear," 
she  said  a^  last;  "  1  hough  j-ou  have  her  eyes.  Alice 
was  beautiful,  but  it  was  a  gentle  beauty;  while 
you  —  well,  I  think  you  must  be  altogether  a  Ljmde." 

"I  know  that  I  am  very  like  the  Lyndes,"  Marion 
answered.  ''  I  have  a  miniature  of  my  father,  which 
I  can  see  myself  that  I  resemble." 

"  He  was  a  very  handsome  man,"  said  Mrs.  Dalton, 
"and  daring  —  ah!  it  was  no  wonder  that  he  was 
among  the  first  to  rush  into  the  war,  and  among  the 
first  to  be  killed!  My  child,  you  do  not  know  h(;w 
my  heart  has  yearned  over  you  during  all  these  years, 
how  happy  I  was  to  hear  of  your  being  at  tiie  convent 
with  Hekn,  and  now  iiow  glad  I  am  to  see  30U  under 
m}'  own  roof.  1  want  3'ou  to  feel  that  you  are  like  a 
daughter  of  the  house." 

"  You  art',  ver^'  kind,"  replied  Marion,  tunclied  by 
the  evident  sincerity  of  tlie  words.  "  I  am  glad,  too, 
to  know  at  Ja^t  some  of  my  mother's  kindred." 

"  I  can't  help  wishing  that  you  looked  more  like 
her,"  said  Mrs.  Dalton,  returning  wistfully  to  that 
point.  "  She  was  veiy  lovely  — though  you  —  I  sup- 
pose I  need  not  tell  you  what  yon  are.     My  dear  "  — 

2 


18  FAIIiY    GOLD. 

and  suddenly  the  elder  woman  stooped  to  kiss  the 
3'ounger  —  "  I  am  soriy  for  you." 

"I  am  sorry  for  you!"  The  words  lingered  on 
Marion's  ear  after  her  aunt's  kindly  presence  had  left 
the  room  and  she  stood  alone,  asking  herself  why  she 
was  so  often  met  in  this  manner.  Why  was  it  that, 
even  witli  her  royal  beauty,  she  had  thus  far  encoun- 
tered more  of  pity  than  of  admiration?  Wh}'  did  all 
eyes  that  had  looked  on  the  sin  and  sorrow  of  earth 
regard  her  with  compassion,  and  why  had  she  heard 
so  often  in  her  old  life  that  which  was  her  first  greet- 
ing in  the  new  —  "I  am  sorry  for  you  "  ? 

"Sorry! — for  what?"  The  girl  asked  herself 
this  with  fiery  and  impatient  disdain.  What  did 
they  all  mean?  Why  did  this  keynote  of  un- 
known misfortune  or  suffering  meet  her  at  every 
turn,  like  a  shadow  flung  forward  by  the  unborn 
future?  Why  did  this  refrain  always  ring  in  her  ears? 
She  was  tired  of  it  —  so  she  said  to  herself  with  sud- 
den passion, —  and  she  would  let  the  future  prove 
whether  or  not  their  pity  was  misplaced. 

She  let  down  her  magnificent  hair  as  she  thought 
this,  and  looked  at  herself  in  the  mirror  out  of  a 
burnished  cloud.  Not,  however,  as  most  beautiful 
women  look  at  the  fair  image  that  smiles  from  those 
shadowy  depths  —  not  with  the  gratified  gaze  of  self- 
admiration  or  the  glance  of  conscious  power,  but 
with  a  criticism  severe  and  stern  enough  to  have  ban- 
ished all  loveliness  from  a  less  perfect  face ;  with  a 
cool  reckoning  and  appreciation,  in  which  the  inno- 
cent vanity  of  girlhood  bore  no  part.  And  when  this 
scrutiny  was  ended,  1he  smile  that  came  over  her  face 
spoke  more  of  resolution  than  of  pleasure. 


FAIRY    GOLD.  19 

She  took  up  a  comb  then,  and  began  arrang- 
ing her  hair.  The  task  did  not  occupy  her  many 
minutes ;  for  her  deft  fingers  were  very  quick,  and 
no  one  had  ever  accused  her  of  caring  for  the  arts 
of  the  toilet.  On  the  contrary,  she  had  always 
manifested  a  careless  disregard  of  them,  which 
puzzled  her  associates,  and  was  by  not  a  few  set  down 
to  affectation.  Now,  when  she  liad  piled  her  hair  on 
lop  of  her  Itead  like  a  coronal  of  red  gold,  she  pro- 
ceeded to  make  her  simple  toilet,  with  scarcely 
another  glance  toward  the  mirror.  It  was  soon  com- 
pleted, and  she  had  been  ready  some  time  when  a 
knock  at  the  door  was  followed  by  the  appearance  of 
Helen's  beaming  face. 

"So  you  are  dressed?"  she  said.  "I  came  to 
show  you  the  way  down.  I  would  have  come  sooner, 
but,  you  know,  there  was  so  much  to  say." 

"  And  to  hear,"  added  Marion.  "  I  can  imagine, 
though  I  do  not  know,  what  such  a  home-coming  is. 
And  what  a  lovely  home  you  have,  Helen !  " 

"You  have  hardly  seen  it  \et,"  answered  Helen. 
"  Come  and  let  me  show  you  all  over  it." 

It  was  certainly  a  spacious  and  pleasant  house, 
built  with  the  stately,  honest  sohdity  of  the  work  of 
former  generations,  but  with  many  modern  additions 
which  served  to  enhance  its  picturesqueness  and  com- 
fort. Marion  praised  it  with  a  sincerity  that 
delighted  Helen  ;  and,  having  made  a  thorough  ex- 
ploration, they  passed  out  of  the  v,'ide  lower  hall  into 
a  Vfranda, which,  as  in  most  Soutliern  houses,  was  at 
this  hour  the  place  of  general  rendezvous.  Here  a 
pretty  dark-eyed  girl  came  forward  to  m.eet  them. 

"  I  was  introduced  to  you  when  you  arrived.  Miss 


20  FAIIIY    GOLD. 

Lynde,"  she  saiil,  '-but  there  was  such  a  hubbub  I 
fancy  you  did  not  notice  me,  and  I  am  glad  to  Avel- 
come  3^ou  again.  I  feel  as  if  Helen's  cousin  must  be 
my  cousin  too." 

"Helen's  cousin  is  much  obliged,"  said  Marion. 
"  You  are  Miss  Morley,  then?  " 

"I  am  the  Netta  of  whom  you  have  doubtless 
heard.  But  pray  sic  down.  Are  you  not  tired  from 
your  journey?  " 

"  A  little.  It  was  so  warm  and  dusty !  "  answered 
Marion.  "  But  this  seems  a  perfect  place  of  rest," 
she  added,  as  she  sank  on  a  lounge  that  had  been 
placed  just  under  the  odorous  shade  of  the  vines 
which  overran  the  front  of  the  veranda.  "  I  mean  to 
indulge  freely  in  the  luxury  of  Idleness  here." 

"  I  hope  you  will,"  said  Helen.  "  But  I  wish  that 
you  felt  sufficiently  rested  to  come  with  me  into  the 
garden.     I  should  like  you  to  see  how  lovely  it  is." 

"  I  wish  that  1  did,  but  I  don't.  Pray  go  3-ourself, 
however.  You  must  not  let  me  begin  my  visit  b}'  being 
a  bore  to  you.     Bliss  Morlej',  pray  take  her  along." 

After  some  little  demur,  the  two  girls  complied  with 
her  request,  and  with  sincere  satisfaction  Marion 
watched  them  disappear  down  the  (.'arden  paths.  She 
was  very  fond  of  Helen,  she  told  herself  and  certainly 
believed  ;  but,  none  the  less,  a  very  moderate  amount 
of  Helen's  society  sufficed  to  content,  and  any  more 
to  weary  her.  Just  now  she  felt  particularly  wearied, 
as  if  both  mind  and  body  had  been  on  a  strain  ;  and, 
sinking  back  on  the  couch,  with  the  vines  breathing 
their  rich  perfume  over  her,  she  remained  so  still  while 
the  shades  of  twilight  began  to  gather,  that  any  one  who 
discovered  her  would  have  had  to  look  very  closelj'. 


FAIHr    GOLD.  21 

This  was  present!}^  proved  ;  for  the  silence,  which 
had  lasted  some  time,  was  broken  by  a  quick  step  — 
a  step  which  i)ussed  across  the  veranda  and  entered 
the  hall,  where  a  ringing  and  hilarious  voice  soon 
made  itself  heard. 

"Where  is  everybody?"  it  inquired.  "Surely  I 
am  late  enough !  I  thought  they  would  all  be  down 
by  this  time." 

"  The^-'ve  all  been  down  ever  so  long,  Frank,"  a 
child's  shrill  tones  replied.  "  They  are  out  in  the 
garden —  Helen  and  Netta  and  Cousin  Marion." 

"Oh,  very  good!  Come  along,  Jock,  and  let  us 
fiud  them,"  said  jNIr.  Frank  Morley.  "Has  your 
cousin  Paul  been  here  3'et?  " 

"No  — not  yet." 

"  Ah,  better  still !  We  are  before  him,  then.  I  shall 
go  and  welcome  Helen  over  again,  and  take  a  kiss 
befoi-e  she  can  prevent  it." 

"Then  she'll  box  yonr  ears  —  I  saw  her  do  it 
once!"  cried  Jock,  in  glee.  "Oh!  yes;  I'll  come 
along  with  you,  Frank." 

The  tall,  lithe  figure,  followed  by  the  smaller  one, 
crossed  the  veranda  again,  and  strode  toward  the 
garden,  leaving  Marion  smiling  to  herself  in  her  shady 
nook. 

Ten  minutes  later  another  step  —  this  time  a  more 
sedate  one  —  sounded  on  the  gravel.  But  keener 
eyts  explored  the  veranda  before  their  owner  entered 
the  house.  Consequently  they  discovered  the  figure 
under  the  vines,  and  Marion  was  startled  by  a  (juiet 
voice  whiehsaid :  — 

' '  What !  all  nlone,  Helen  ?  I  had  not  ho[)ed  for  such 
good  fortune  —  so  soon.  " 


CHAPTER  II. 

PROBABLY  the  speaker  had  seldom  been  more 
surprised  than  when  Marion  rose  quickly,  and, 
the  last  glow  from  the  west  falling  over  her,  he 
found  himself  face  to  face  with  a  stranger. 

Even  to  the  most  self-possessed  there  is  something 
a  little  embarrassing  when  tender  tones  or  caressing 
words  are  heard  by  ears  for  which  they  were  not 
intended ;  and,  although  there  was  nothing  specially 
significant  in  the  letter  of  this  speech,  its  spirit  had 
been  eloquent  enough  to  make  Mr.  Paul  Rathborne 
start  with  confusion  when  he  discovered  his  mistake. 

"  I  beg  pardon,"  he  said,  a  little  hastily —  "  I  did 
not  observe  —  that  is  "  (with  a  sudden  grasp  of  self- 
possession),  "  I  thought  I  was  addressing  my  cousin. 
I  suppose  I  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Miss  L^mde?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Marion.  "  And  you,  I  presume, 
are  Mr.  Rathborne  ?  " 

He  bowed.  "  I  am  glad  to  perceive  that  you  have 
heard  of  me." 

"Oh!"  said  Marion,  "in  knowing  Helen,  one 
knows  all  the  people  that  make  up  her  home  circle.  I 
assure  you  I  feel  intimately  acquainted  with  yourself 
and  all  the  Morleys,  and  the  children  —  " 

"And  probably  the  horses  and  the  dogs,"  he  said 
(22) 


FAIRY    GOLD.  23 

as  she  paused.  "I  am  aware  of  the  comprehensive- 
ness of  Helen's  affections." 

"  Her  heart  is  large  enough  to  hold  all  that  she 
gives  a  place  in  it,"  remarked  Marion. 

"Oh!  no  doubt,"  said  Mr.  Rathborne.  "But, 
perhaps,  if  one  had  one's  choice,  one  would  be  flat- 
tered by  more  exclusiveness." 

JMarion  glanced  at  him  and  thought,  "  It  is  evi- 
dently in  your  nature  to  want  to  monopolize."  But 
she  only  said:  "I  do  not  think  you  have  reason  to 
complain  of  your  place  in  Helen's  regard." 

"I  have  no  thought  of  complaining."  he  replied; 
"  I  am  very  grateful  for  all  the  regard  she  is  good 
enough  to  give  me." 

The  humility  of  tlie  words  could  not  conceal  an 
arrogance  of  tone,  which  did  not  escape  the  ear  of  the 
listener.  At  that  moment  she  was  as  thoroughly  con- 
vinced as  ever  afterward  that  this  man  perfectly 
understood  how  paramount  was  the  place  he  held  in 
Helen's  regard. 

"  Helen's  affection  is  something  for  which  one  may 
well  be  grateful,"  she  observed,  sincerely  enough. 
"But  do  you  not  wish  to  find  her?  She  is  in  the 
garden." 

Mr.  Rathborne  did  not  stir.  "  If  she  is  in  the 
garden,"  he  said,  "she  will  no  doubt  come  in  [pres- 
ently. And  I  judge  from  sounds  which  I  hear  in  that 
direction  that  she  is  not  alone.  If  you  do  not  object, 
I  will  remain  here  and  wait  for  her," 

"Object!  Why  should  loliject?"  aMied  Marion. 
She  rt'scnted  h  rself.  and  was  not  displeased  that  Mr. 
Rathborne  drew  forward  a  chair  and  also  sat  down. 
She  was  aware  thuL  he  was,  in  a  manner,   engaged  to 


24  FAiny    GOLD. 

Helen  —  in  other  words,  that  their  positive  engage- 
ment had  only  been  deferred  on  account  of  Helen's 
youth  ;  but  the  fact  did  not  at  all  detract  from  the 
interest  be  bad  for  her  —  the  interest  of  a  man  witli 
■wider  life  and,  presumabl}',  wider  thoughts  than  the 
scbool-girls  who,  up  to  this  time,  had  formed  her 
social  atmosphere.  It  offended  her,  therefore,  that 
wben  be  spoke  next  it  was  in  the  tone  of  one  address- 
ing a  scbool-girl. 

"  I  suppose,  Miss  Lynde,  tbat,  like  Helen,  you  were 
very  much  attached  to  the  convent?  " 

"■It  is  not  at  all  safe  to  suppose  that  I  am  in  any 
respect  like  Helen,"  she  replied.  "  We  are  very  good 
friends,  but  exceedingl}^  different  in  character." 

' '  And  therefore  in  tastes?  " 

"  That  follows,  does  it  not?  Different  characters 
must  have  different  tastes." 

"  It  certainly  seems  a  natural  inference.  And  so  I 
am  to  presume  that  you  were  not  attached  to  the 
convent?  " 

"That  is  going  rather  too  far.  I  liked  it  better 
than  any  other  school  at  which  I  ever  was  placed. 
But  I  am  not  fond  of  restraint  and  subjection  ;  there- 
fore I  am  glad  that  my  school- days  are  over." 

Mr.  Rathborne  smiled  slightly.  Even  in  the  dusk 
he  could  see  enough  of  the  presence  before  him  to 
judge  that  restraint  and  subjection  would  indeed  be 
little  likel}'^  to  please  this  imperial-looking  creature. 

"  I  am  to  congratulate  you,  then,"  he  said,  "  on 
the  fact  that  your  school-days  are  definitely  over?  " 

"  Yes,  they  are  definitely  over,  and  it  remains  now 
to  be  seen  what  schooling  life  holds  for  me." 

"  Certainly  a  singular  girl  this!  "  thought  the  man, 


FAIEY    GOLD.  25. 

wbo  was  well  aware  that  most  j'oung  ladies  bad  litile 
thought  of  what  seh(jolin'^  life  might  hold  for  them. 
"  If  I  may  be  permitted  to  prophesy,''  he  said  aloud, 
"  I  think  that  life  has  iu  store  for  you  onl}'^  pleasant 
experiences." 

"That  is  very  kind  of  you,"  answered  Maritm, 
with  a  mocking  tone  in  her  voice,  which  was  very 
familiar  to  her  associates  ;  "  but  I  don't  know  that  I 
have  any  claim  to  special  exemption  from  the  usual 
lot  of  mankind ;  and  certainly  pleasant  experiences 
are  not  the  usual  lot,  unless  everj'one  is  very  much 
mistaken." 

"  People  are  too  much  given  to  sitting  down  and 
moaning  over  the  unpleasantness  of  life,  when  they 
might  make  it  otherwise  by  taking  malters  into  their 
own  hands,"  said  Mr.  Rathborue.  "  But  that  requires 
a  strong  will." 

"  And  something  beside  will,  does  it  not.^  " 

"Oh!  of  course  the  abilit}^  to  seize  opportunity, 
and  make  one's  self  master  of  it." 

"  That  is  what  I  should  like,"  said  Marion,  speaking 
as  if  to  herself:  "to  seize  opportunity.  But  the 
opportunity  must  come  in  order  to  be  seized." 

"  There  is  little  doubt  but  that  it  will  come  to 
you,"  remarked  her  companion,  more  and  more 
impressed. 

How  far  the  conversation  might  have  progressed  in 
this  personal  vein,  into  which  it  had  so  unexpectedl}'^ 
fallen,  it  is  difficult  to  say ;  for  a  spark  of  congeiiial 
sympathy  had  been  already  struck  between  these  two 
people,  who  a  few  minutes  before  had  been  al)Solute 
strangers  to  each  other.  But  at  this  point  Mrs.  Dalton 
stepped  out  of,  the  hall  and  came  toward  them. 


26  FAIRY   GOLD. 

"  I  thought  I  heard  your  voice,  Paul,"  she  said,  as 
Rathborne  rose  to  shake  hands  with  her;  "and  I 
wondered  to  whom  you  were  talking,  since  I  knew  the 
girls  were  in  the  garden.  But  this  is  Marion,  is  it 
not?" 

"  It  is  Marion,"  replied  that  yonng  lady.  "  I  did 
not  go  into  the  garden —  I  felt  too  tired, —  and  Mr. 
Rathborne  found  me  here  a  few  minutes  ago." 

"  It  is  somewhat  late  for  an  introduction,  then," 
said  Mrs.  Dalton.  '"  since  you  have  already  made 
acquaintance.  ■ 

"Not  a  very  difficult  task,"  observed  Rathborne. 
"  I  have  heard  a  good  deal  of  Miss  Lynde,  and  she 
was  good  enough  to  say  that  my  name  was  not  alto- 
gether unknown  to  her." 

"  Helen  talks  so  much  of  her  friends  that  they  could 
hardly  avoid  knowing  one  another,"  resumed  Mrs. 
Dalton.  "  But  pray  go  and  tell  her,  Paul,  that  it  is 
time  to  come  in  to  tea." 

"  With  pleasure,"  said  Mr.  Rathborne,  departing 
with  an  alacrity  which  seemed  to  imply  that  only 
politeness  had  prevented  his  going  before. 

At  least  so  Mrs.  Dalton  interpreted  the  quickness 
of  his  step,  as  she  looked  after  him  for  an  instant,  and 
then  turned  to  Marion.  "I  suppose,  my  dear,"  she 
said,  "  that  you  have  heard  Helen  speak  of  Paul  very 
often?" 

"  Very  often  indeed,"  answered  Marion. 

"And  you  are  probably  aware  that  if  I  had  not 
refused  to  allow  her  to  bind  herself  while  she  was  so 
young,  they  would  be  engaged?  " 

Marion  signified  that  she  had  also  heard  this  — 
exhaustively. 


FAIBY    GOLD.  27 

"The  responsibilities  of  a  parent  are  very  great," 
said  Mrs.  Dalton,  with  a  sigh.  "  I  certainly  have 
every  reason  to  trust  Paul,  who  has  been  as  h*.lpful  as 
a  son  to  ine  in  all  business  matters  since  my  hus- 
band's death — he  is  my  nephew  by  marriage,  j'ou 
know  —  yet  I  hesitate  when  I  think  of  trusting  Helen's 
happiness  to  him.  She  is  so  very  affectionate  that  I 
do  not  think  she  could  be  happy  with  any  one  who 
did  not  feel  as  warmly  as  herself.  Now,  Paul  is  ver3' 
reserved  in  character  and  cold  in  manner.  I  fear  that 
he  would  chill  and  wound  her  —  after  a  while." 

"  But  is  it  not  a  rule  that  people  like  best  those  who 
are  most  opposite  to  them  in  character.^"  asked 
Mar-ion,  whose  interest  in  Helen's  love-affair  began  to 
quicken  a  little  since  she  had  met  its  hero. 

"  I  believe  it  is  a  general  rule,"  replied  Mrs.  Dal- 
ton, dubiously ;  "  but  I  distrust  its  particular  applica- 
tion in  this  case.  And,  then,  they  are  not  of  the  same 
religion." 

"  Oh!  "  exclaimed  Marion,  carelessly,  "  that  surely 
does  not  matter  —  with  liberal  people." 

"It  matters  with  Catholics,"  said  Mrs.  Dalton. 
"  Although  not  a  Catholic  yourself,  you  ought  to  know 
that." 

"  I  know  that  people  who  have  always  been  Cath- 
olics feel  so.  But  you,  who  wei'e  once  a  Protestant  — 
I  should  think  that  you  would  be  more  broad." 

"  Converts  are  the  last  people  to  be  broad  in  that 
respect,"  said  Mrs.  Dalton.  "  They  have  known  too 
much  of  the  bitterness  of  differing  feeling  on  that  sub- 
ject. But  you  do  not  understand,  so  we  will  not  dis- 
cuss it.  I  forgot  for  a  moment  that  3'ou  are  separated 
from  us  in  faith." 


28  FAlllY    GOLD. 

"  I  am  separated  from  3^011  because  I  do  not  hold 
your  faith,"  said  Marion,  frankly ;  "but  I  am  not 
separated  because  I  hold  any  other.  All  religions  are 
alike  to  me,  except  that  1  respect  the  Catholic  most. 
But  I  could  never  belong  to  it." 

"  Never  is  a  long  day,"  observed  Mrs.  Dalton. 
"  You  do  not  know  what  light  the  future  may  hold  for 
you.  However,  we  will  talk  of  this  another  time  ;  for 
here  come  the  garden  party." 

They  came  through  the  twilight  as  she  spoke,  the 
light  dresses  of  the  girls  sLiowing  with  pretty  effect 
against  the  daik  masses  of  shrubbery,  and  their  gay 
young  voices  ringing  out,  with  accompaniment  of 
laughter,  through  the  slill  air. 

"  Marion  !  —  where  is  Marion?  "  cried  Helen,  as  she 
reached  the  veranda.  "  Oh !  there  3'ou  are  still,  under 
the  vines!  Here  is  a  greeting  from  the  garden  i hat 
you  would  not  go  to  see." 

Jt  was  a  cluster  of  odorous  roses  —  splendid  jacque- 
minots—  which  fell  into  Marion's  Iqp,  and  which  she 
took  up  and  pinned  against  her  wiiite  dress,  'i  heir 
glowing  color  lent  a  fresh  touch  of  brilliancy  (o  her 
appearance  when  Paul  Rathborne  found  himself 
opposite  to  her  at  the  well-lighted  tea-table.  The 
twilight  had  revealed  to  him  that  she  was  handsome, 
but  he  had  not  been  prepared  for  such  beauty  as  now 
met  and  fascinated  his  gaze.  He  regarded  her  with 
a  wonder  which  was  as  evident  as  his  admiration,  and 
net  less  flattering  to  her  vanity.  For  Helen's  con- 
fidences had  enabled  her  to  form  a  very  cori*ect  idea 
of  this  cold,  self-contained  man;  and  she  felt  that  to 
move  him  so  much  was  no  small  earnest  of  her  power 
to  move  others. 


FAinY    GOLD.  y.' 

Meanwhile  she  glanced  at  him  now  and  then  "ith 
critic:d  observation,  seeing  a  keen  ft.ce,  with  deep-set 
eyes  under  a  brow  more  higli  than  broad;  a  tlin- 
lipped  mouth,  which  did  not  smile  readily :  and  a  gen- 
eral air  of  reserve  and  power.  It  was  a  face  not 
without  attraction  to  the  girl,  whose  own  spirit  vras 
sufficiently  ambitious  and  arrogant  to  recognize  and 
respond  to  the  signs  of  such  a  spirit  in  another.  "  lie 
is  a  man  who  mfeans  to  make  his  way  in  the  world, 
and  who  will  use  poor  little  Helen  as  a  steppi'  g- 
slone,"  she  thought.  "  A  cold,  supercilious,  selfish 
man  —  the  kind  of  man  wtio  despises  women,  I  fancy. 
Let  us  see  if  he  will  despise  me." 

There  was  not  much  reason  to  suspect  Mr.  Rath- 
borne  of  such  presumption.  Almost  his  first  remark 
to  Helen,  when  they  were  together  after  tea,  was, 
"  What  a  remarkable  person  your  cousin  seems  to 
be!  " 

'•  Marion?  "  said  Helen.  "  Yes,  she  is  so  remark- 
able that  Claire  and  I  have  often  said  that  she  is  made 
for  some  great  destiny.  She  looks  like  an  empress, 
does  she  not?  " 

Rathborne  laughed.  "  She  has  a  very  imperial  air, 
certainly,"  he  said;  "  and  she  is  strikingly  beautiful. 
She  mio-ht  have  the  world  at  her  feet  if  sh'^  had  a 
fortune.     But  I  supi)ose  she  has  very  little?  " 

'•  None  at  all,  I  think,"  answered  Helen,  simply. 
"  And  it  has  embi'tered  her.     She  values  money  too 

highly." 

"  It  is  difficult  to  do  that,"  said  Rathborne,  dryly; 
"  and  Miss  Lynde  knows  what  is  fitted  for  her  when 
she  desires  weaUh.  I  never  saw  a  woman  who  seemed 
more  evidently  born  for  it." 


30  FAIEY    GOLD. 

'•  I  wish  I  could  give  her  my  fortune,"  said  Helen, 
sincerely.  "She  hates  poverty  so  much,  while  I 
would  not  at  all  mind  being  poor." 

An  echo  of  the  wish  shot  through  Ratliborne's  mind, 
but  he  only  said,  with  one  of  his  faint,  flitting  smiles : 
"  My  dear  Helen,  3'ou  are  not  exactly  a  judge  of  tljc 
poverty  j^ou  have  never  tried.  And,  while  it  is  very 
good  of  you  to  wish  to  give  your  cousin  your  fortune, 
there  can  be  no  doubt  that  with  such  a  face  she  will 
not  go  through  life  without  finding  one." 

Helen  looked  across  the  room  at  the  beautiful  face 
of  which  he  spoke.  In  her  heart  no  pang  of  envy 
stirred,  only  lionest  admiration  as  she  said:  "  I  knew 
you  would  admire  her!  " 

"  Admire  her  —  yes,"  Paul  answered  ;  "  one  could 
hardly  fail  to  do  that.  But  I  do  not  think  I  shall  hke 
her.  I  like  amiable,  gentle  women,  and  I  am  ver}- 
certain  that  not  even  you  can  say  that  Miss  Lj'nde  is 
amiable  and  gentle." 


CHAPTER    III. 

YOU   have    not   told    me  yet,  Marion,   what  you 
think  of  Paul,"  said  Helen  the  next  day. 

The  two  girls  were  together  in  a  handsome, 
airy  parlor,  through  which  the  stream  of  family  life  had 
been  flowing  all  morning,  but  from  which  it  had  now 
ebbed,  leaving  them  alone.  Helen,  who  had  been  flit- 
ting like  a  bird  from  one  occupation,  or  attempt  at 
occupation,  to  anotlier,  now  threw  herself  into  a  chair 
by  one  of  the  low  open  windows,  and  looked  at  Marion, 
who  was  lying  luxuriously  on  a  couch  near  by,  and 
for  an  hour  past  had  not  lifted  her  eyes  from  her 
book. 

They  were  lifted  now,  however,  and  regarded  the 
speaker  quietly.  "  What  do  I  think  of  Mr.  Rath- 
borne.'*"  she  asked.  "My  dear  Helen,  what  can  I 
possibly  think  of  him  on  such  short  acquaintance, 
except  that  he  is  tall  and  good-looking,  and  appears  to 
have  a  very  good  opinion  of  himself?  " 

"O  Marion!  " 

"  For  all  that  I  know,  it  may  be  an  opinion  based  on 
excellent  grounds,  but  it  is  undoubtedly  the  first  thing 
about  him  that  attracts  one's  attention." 

"  It  is  based  on  excellent  grounds,"  said  Helen, with 
some  spirit.     "■Everyone  who   knows   Paul    admires, 
and  looks  up  to  him." 


■32  FAIliV    GOLD. 

"  Not  quite  everyone,"  olisirveil  nn  unexpected 
voice,  and  ihrougli  ihe  window  by  winch  she  sat  Mr. 
Frank  Morley  stepped  into  the  room.  "  I  am  sorry  to 
come  upon  tiie  scene  with  a  contradiction,"  he  said, 
as  he  took  his  cousin's  hand ;  "  but  really,  you  know, 
Helen,  that  is  too  sweeping  an  assertion.  /  don't  look 
uj)  to  Paul  Rathborue." 

"80  much  the  worse  for  you,  then,"'  said  Helen. 
"  A  boy  like  3  ou  could  not  do  better." 

"  I  think  that  a  boy,  even  though  he  were  like  me, 
might  do  much  better.  He  might  look  up  to  someone 
who  was  not  so  selfish  and  conceited." 

A  rose  flame  came  into  Helen's  cheeks.  "  You  are 
very  rude  as  well  as  ill-natured,"  she  answered  in  a 
low  tone.  "  You  have  no  right  to  say  such  things 
to  me." 

'  ■  I  have  never  been  told  that  there  was  any  reason 
why  I  should  not  sa}^  them  to  you,"  replied  the  3'oung 
man,  significantly  ;  "  but  I  had  no  intention  of  making 
myself  disagreeable.  After  all,  the  truth  is  not  always 
to  be  told." 

"  It  is  not  the  truth,"  exclaimed  Helen,  with  a  flash 
of  fire  in  her  glance.  "  Paul  is  neither  selfish  nor  con- 
ceited. But  you  never  liked  him,  Frank  —  you  know 
you  never  did." 

'•  I  never  hesitated  to  confess  it,"  saidFrank;  "but 
I  regret  having  annoyed  you,  Helen.  I  did  not  think 
you  wou  d  take  my  opinion  of  Mr.  Rathborne  s^o  much 
to  heart." 

'•It  is  not;  your  opinion,"  responded  Helen.  "It 
is  —  it  is  the  injustice!  "  And  then,  as  if  unwilling 
to  trust  herself  further,  she  sprang  up  and  left  the 
■room. 


FAIBY   GOLD.  33 

There  was  an  awkward  pause  for  a  moment  after  her 
departure.  Mr.  Frank  Morley  began  to  whistle,  but 
checked  himself,  with  an  apologetic  glance  at  Marion, 
who,  leaning  back  on  the  cushions  of  her  couch,  was 
faintl}'  smiling. 

"  I  have,  as  usual,  put  my  foot  into  it,"  said  the 
young  man.  "But  I  could  not  imagine  that  Helen 
would  be  so  fiery.  She  used  to  laugh  when  I  abused 
Paul." 

"Did  she?"  asked  Marion.  "But,  then,  you 
know,  there  comes  a  time  when  one  ceases  to  laugh ; 
and  if  one  likes  a  friend,  one  does  not  wish  to  hear 
him  abused.  That  time  seems  to  have  arrived  with 
her." 

"Yes,"  said  Morley,  rather  ruefully.  "And  the 
worst  of  it  is  that  it  looks  as  if  she  liked  the  fellow 
better  than  I  imagined.     I  am  awfully  sorry  for  that." 

"You  evidently  do  not  like  him." 

"I! — no  indeed.  As  Helen  remarked,  I  never 
liked  him,  but  I  like  him  less  and  less  as  time  goes 
on." 

'-'  What  is  the  matter  with  him?  " 

"Everything  is  the  matter  with  him.  He  is  as  cold 
as  a  stone  ;  he  cares  for  nobody  in  the  world  but  Paul 
Rathborne,  and  for  nothing  that  does  not  advance  that 
important  person's  interest.  He  is  supercilious  until 
one  longs  to  knock  him  down ;  and  so  ambitious  that 
he  would  walk  over  the  body  of  his  dearest  friend  — 
granting  that  he  had  such  a  thing  —  to  advance  him- 
self in  life  one  inch." 

"Altogether  a  very  charming  character!"  re- 
marked Marion.  "It  is  certain  that  you  are  not  the 
dearest  friend  over  whose  body  he  would  walk." 

3 


34  FAIRY    GOLD. 

Young  Morley  laughed.  "  No,"  he  said,  frankly. 
"  I  would  walk  over  his  with  a  good  deal  of  pleasure  ; 
but  he  will  never  walk  over  mine,  if  I  can  help  it. 
Though  he  ma}-,  for  all  that,"  he  added,  after  an  in- 
stant ;  "  for  he  is  so  sharp  that  one  can  never  tell  what 
he  is  up  to,  until  it  is  too  late  to  frustrate  him." 

"  This  is  very  interesting,"  said  Marion.  "It  is 
like  reading  a  novel  to  hear  a  character  analyzed  in  so 
masterly  a  manner." 

Morley  colored.  He  was  too  shrewd  not  to  know 
that  she  was  laughing  at  him  ;  but  while  the  fact  was 
sufficiently  evident,  it  was  not  exactly  evident  how 
best  to  show  his  appreciation  of  it.  After  a  moment 
he  spoke  in  a  tone  which  had  a  little  offense  in  it: — 

"I  don't  suppose  the  subject  interests  j^ou,  so  I 
ought  to  beg  pardon  for  dwelling  on  it.  But  I  only 
meant  to  explain  why  Helen  was  vexed." 

"And  now  you  are  vexed,"  observed  Marion. 
"What  have  I  done?  I  assure  j'ou  I  was  in  earnest 
in  saying  I  was  interested  in  your  analysis  of  Mr. 
Rathborne's  character." 

"  It  sounded  more  as  if  you  were  satirical,"  said 
Morley.  "  And  I  was  not  trying  to  analj'ze  his  char- 
acter: I  was  only  answering  your  questions  about 
it." 

"  Quite  true,  but  those  questions  led  to  your  ana- 
l^'zing  it — and  so  successfully,  too,  that  I  am  going 
to  ask  another.  Tell  me  if  vou  think  he  is  much 
attached  to  Helen?  " 

A  sudden  cloud  came  over  the  3'oung  man's  face, 
and  his  eyes  seemed  to  darken.  "I  do  not  think  he 
is  attached  to  her  at  nil,"  he  replied,  bluntly.  "  Or,  if 
that  is  saying  too  much  (for  everyone  must   be    at- 


FAIRY    GOLD.  35 

tachcd  to  Ile'en),  I  do   not  l)elieve   l^e  would  wi-li  to 
marry  her  but  for  her  fortune." 

"Well,"  said  ]Maiion,  philosopliicalh',  "  I  sui)pnse 
it  is  tlie  ordinary  fate  of  rich  women  to  be  married 
for  their  money.  And,  after  all,  they  do  not  seem 
to  mind  it:   they  appear  happy  enough." 

"Helen  would  never  be  happy,"  said  Frank 
Morley,  impetuously. 

"  Do  not  be  sure  of  that,"  responded  the  3'oiing 
cynic  on  the  couch.  "There  is  a  French  proverb, 
you  know,  which  says:  '■  II  y  a  toujoiirs  Vun  quibaisse 
et  Vun  qui  tend  lajoue.'  Helen  would  play  the  active 
part  in  that  to  perfection." 

Tiie  young  man  looked  at  her  with  something  of 
indignation.  "You  may  consider  yourself  a  friend 
of  Helen's,"  he  remarked,  "  but  you  certainly  do  not 
understand  her." 

"No?"    said   Marion,    smiling.     "Then   perhaps, 
you  will  enlighten  me,  as  you  have  about  Mr.  Rath- 
borne.     I  am  probably  deficient  in  penetration." 

Morley  made  a  gallant  effort  not  to  be  betrayed 
into  boyish  petulance,  and  succeeded  sufficiently  to 
say,  with  a  dignity  which  amused  his  tormentor:  — 

"I  am  sure  that  penetration  is  the  last  thing  you 
are  deficient  in,  Miss  Lynde.  But  you  do  not  credit 
othors  with  enough  of  the  quality.  I,  at  least,  know 
when  I  am  laughed  at.  Now,  if  you  will  excuse  me, 
I  will  go  and  make  my  peace  with  Helen." 

He  walked  out  of  the  room,  holding  his  slim,  young 
fienre  very  erect;  and  Marion  looked  after  him  with 
a  glance  of  mingled  amusement  and  approval. 

"Very  well  done,  Mr.  Morlp}^  "  she  said  to  her- 
self.    "You  are  an  uncommonly  nice  boy,  with  un- 


36  FAIRY   GOLD. 

commonl}'  clear  reasons  for  3'our  opinions.  Ten  j'ears 
hence  you  may  be  a  very  agreeable  man.  As  for  Mr. 
Rathborue,  your  account  of  him  agrees  entirely  with 
my  own  impressions.  I  realh'  do  possess  a  little  pen- 
etration, afler  all." 

Then  she  took  up  her  novel  again,  and  settled  back 
among  the  sofa-cushions  with  an  air  of  comfort.  At 
that  moment  her  only  desire  was  tliat  slie  might  not 
be  disturbed  for  a  reasonable  length  of  time.  The 
people  in  the  book  interested  her  much  more  than  the 
people  who  surrounded  her  in  life.  At  this  period  of 
her  existence  she  was  wrapped  in  a  rutliless  egotism, 
which  made  all  human  beings  shadows  to  her,  unless 
they  touched  her  interest.  It  was  not  yet  apparent 
whether  any  of  those  who  were  now  about  her  would 
touch  her  interest;  and  until  that  fact  was  demon- 
strated, she  troubled  herself  very  little  about  them. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour,  perhaps,  had  passed  without 
any  one  appearing  to  disturb  her  quiet,  when,  through 
the  same  window  by  which  young  Morle}'  had  entered, 
another  presence  stepped  into  the  room.  It  was 
Rathhorne,  who  looked  around,  met  Marion's  eyes, 
and  came  toward  her  with  a  pleased  expression. 

"  It  seems  to  me  my  good  fortune  to  find  you  always 
alone,  Miss  Lynde,"  he  observed. 

'•  And  it  seems  to  be  the  custom  here  that  visitors 
shall  appear  in  the  most  unexpected  and  informal 
manner,"  said  Marion.  "  Do  they  always  come  in 
unannounced,  by  way  of  the  window?  " 

'•Oh,  no  I  Here,  as  elsewhere,  most  visitors  enter 
decorously  by  way  of  the  door.  But  I  have  long  been 
:is  familiarly  intimate  in  this  house  as  if  it  were  m}' 
home,  and  I  expected  to  find  the  family  assembled." 


FAIRY   GOLD.  37 

"The  family  has  been  assembled,  but  the  different 
members  have  been  called  away  by  one  thing  or 
another,  until  only  I  remain." 

"  You  appear  to  be  fond  of  solitude." 

"Is  not  that  a  wide  conclusion  to  draw  from  the 
fact  that  you  have  found  me  twice  alone?  " 

"Discerning  people  can  draw  wide  conclusions 
from  slight  indications.  On  each  occasion  a  person 
sociably  inclined  would  not  have  been  left  alone." 

"  Generally  speaking,  I  am  not  very  sociably  in- 
clined, I  suppose ;  but  that  does  not  mean  that  I 
object  to  society  —  when  it  pleases  me." 

"I  judge  that  you  are  not  very  easily  pleased," 
answered  Rathborne,  regarding  the  face  which  he 
found  even  more  beautiful  than  his  recollection  had 
painted  it. 

iShe  looked  at  him  with  a  smile  so  brilliant  that  it 
almost  startled  him.  '•  Are  you  trying  to  give  me 
another  proof  of  your  discernment?"  she  asked. 
"  If  so,  you  will  be  gratified  to  hear  that  you  are 
right.  I  am  not  ea'^ily  pleased  —  as  a  rule.  I  sup- 
pose peoi)le  are  much  happier  who  are  not  so  '  diffi- 
cult,' as  my  French  teacher  used  to  call  me.  There 
is  Helen,  for  instance;  she  likes  everything  and  every- 
body, and  she  is  certainly  happier  than  I  am." 

"But,  then,  unfortunately  it  is  not  very  flattering 
to  the  vanity  when  one  pleases  a  person  who  is  so 
easily  pleased." 

Marion  lifted  her  eyebrows  with  a  mocking  expres- 
sion. "  But  why  should  one's  vanity  be  flattered?  " 
she  asked.  "It  is  not  good  for  one  that  it  should 
be." 

"  Not  good  perhaps,   but  very    pleasant,"    replied 


o8  FAIliT   GOLD. 

Mr.  Ratbborne  ;  "  and  I  am,  like  yourself,  somewhat 
'  difficult,'  and  hard  lo  please." 

"  Ah!  then  you  can  sympathize  with  me.  It  is  not 
an  agreeable  disposition  to  possess." 

"  I  can  sympathize  with  you  on  a  good  many 
points  —  or  r.t  least  so  I  have  the  presumption  to 
fancy,"  he  said.  "  There  is  an  instinct  that  tells  one 
these  things.  Even  in  our  brief  conversation  yester- 
da}'  evening  I  felt  as  if  a  sympathetic  undei'standiug 
was  established  between  us.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
we  were  likel}'  to  look  at  many  things  in  the  same 
light." 

It  is  hardly  necessarj- to  observe  that,  considering 
what  she  had  recently  heard  of  the  speaker's  charac- 
ter, and  hence  of  Lis  probable  way  of  looking  at 
things,  Marion  should  not  have  been  \evy  much  flat- 
tered by  this.  But,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  she  was  flat- 
tered. She  had  as  strong  a  belief  in  her  own  powers, 
as  strong  a  determination  to  make  events  and  people 
serve  her  ends,  as  Mr.  Rathborne  himself  possessed. 
But  her  powers  were  untried,  her  ability  to  impress 
people  untested  ;  and  this  first  proof  that  she  was 
remarkable  — that  even  this  cold,  selfish  man  recog- 
nized in  her  something  altogether  uncommon  — 
something  allied  to  his  own  ambitious  spirit, —  was  like 
wine  to  her  self-esteem.  Slie  thought  that  here  was 
material  on  which  she  might  try  whatever  power  she 
had,  without  fear  of  doing  mischief , —  material  certain 
to  look  after  itself  and  its  own  interest  in  any 
event,  and  witli  which  no  unpleasant  results  could  be 
feared. 

To  do  her  justice,  Marion  wanted  only  to  make  a 
mental    impression:    to   extort    admiration    for    her 


FAIUY    COLD.  39 

unusual  gifts  of  niiiid  and  cliaracter  from  this  man, 
who,  she  knew  instinctively,  was  not  easil3'  moved  to 
admivaiiou  or  interest.  If  she  forced  it  from  him, 
then  she  might  lie  sure  that  it  would  be  easy  to  win  it 
from  others.  These  thoughts  were  not  absolutely 
formulated  in  her  mind  at  this  moment,  but  the^'^  were 
impressed  on  her  consciousness  sufficient!}'  to  make 
her  reply :  — 

"  You  flatter  me  by  saying  so  ;  for  you  are  a  man 
"who  knows  the  world,  and  I  was  yesterday  a  school- 
girl. It  would  be  sti'ange,  then,  if  we  did  see  things 
in  the  same  light." 

"■  It  is  difficult  to  realize  that  3'ou  were  yesterda}^  — 
or  ever  —  a  school-girl,"  said  Rathborne,  leaning 
back  and  looking  at  her  intently  from  under  his  dark 
brows. 

"  That  does  not  sound  very  flattering,"  she  replied, 
with  a  laugh ;  and  3'et  in  her  heart  she  knew  that  it 
was  just  the  kind  of  flattery  she  desired. 

"  I  am  not  trying  to  flatter  you,"  he  replied.  "  I 
am  telling  you  exactly  how  j'ou  impress  me.  And 
I  do  not  see  how,  in  the  name  of  all  that  is  wonderful, 
3-ou  ever  became  what  3'ou  are  in  that  convent  from 
which  you  come." 

A  swift  shade  passed  over  Marion's  face.  "You 
must  not  blame  or  credit  the  convent  with  what  I 
am,"  she  said.  "  If  I  had  gone  there  earlier,  I  might 
be  a  very  different  person.  But  my  character  and 
disposition  were  formed  when  I  went  there,  two  years 
ago;  and  the  influences  of  the  place  could  not  change 
me,  though  \.\\Qy  often  made  me  feel  as  if  change 
would  be  desirable." 

"  They  made  \'ou  feel  a  mistake,  then,"  remarked 


40  FAfliV    GOLD. 

her   companion,    with   em[)liasis.      "  Change   in   3'ou 
would  not  be  desiraljle.     You  are  — " 

But  Marion  was  not  destined  to  hear  just  then  what 
she  w^as.  Steps  and  voices  came  across  the  liall; 
Helen's  laugh  sounded,  and  the  next  moment  Helen 
herself  appeared  in  the  doorway-,  followed  by  Frank 
Morley,  who  had  apparently  succeeded  in  making  his 
peac€. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

WHEN  Sunday  came,  Helen  said  to  her  cousin, 
rather  wistfully:  "Will  you  go  to  church 
"with  us  to-da}',  Marion?  " 

"Not  to-day,  I  believe,  if  you  will  excuse  me," 
answered  Marion.  "If  I  go  anywhere — which  is 
doubtful  —  I  suppose  it  ought  to  be  to  the  church  I 
was  brought  up  in." 

"I  thought  you  always  said  at  the  convent  how 
much  you  preferred  Catholic  services,"  said  Helen, 
in  a  disappointed  tone. 

"  Well,  at  the  convent,  you  see,  one  had  not  much 
choice,"  replied  the  other,  laughing;  "and,  then, 
the  services  were  cliarming  there  —  so  poetical  and 
beauiiful.  That  chapel  was  a  picture  in  itself .  But, 
from  the  outward  appearance  of  your  church  here. 
I  should  not  judge  that  it  possessed  much  inward 
beauty." 

"No,"  said  Helen,  reluctantly,  "  it  has  not  much 
beaut}^ ;  but,  then,  the  Mass  is  ever^^where  the  same, 
you  know." 

"  For  those  who  believe  in  it,  very  likelv,'"  was 
the  careless  rejoinder.  "  But  I  am  an  outsider.  I 
believe  only  in  what  I  see ;  and  ^^  hen  I  see  beautiful 
ceremonies,  I  enjov  them  for  Iheir  beantv." 

■    (41) 


42  FAIL'Y    GOLD. 

"It  is  just  as  well,  in  that  case,  that  3-011  should 
not  go  with  us,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Dalton,  from 
the  head  of  the  table  —  for  this  conversation  took 
place  at  breakfast.  "Ours  is  a  very  plain  little 
chapel,  the  congregation  being  small  and  poor.  If 
you  are  in  search  of  beautiful  ceremonies,  the  Episco- 
pal churcli  will  be  more  likely  to  gratify  you.  They 
have  a  new  Ritualistic  clergyman  there,  who  has 
introduced  many  new  customs,  I  hear." 

"I  see  no  particular  reason  why  1  should  go  any- 
where," observed  Marion,  truthfullj^  "  It  is  a  vei-y 
pleasant  day  for  staying  at  home." 

But  she  was  not  destined  to  stay  at  home  on  this 
particular  Sunday,  which  was  the  beginning  of  a 
change  in  her  life.  After  breakfast,  while  they  were 
enjoying  the  freshness  of  the  summer  morning  on  the 
veranda,  and  before  any  chime  of  bells  yet  filled  the 
air,  Miss  Morley  made  her  appearance,  fully  dressed 
for  church  parade ;  and,  after  a  general  greeting,  said 
to  Marion :  — 

"  I  have  come  to  inquire  if  you  would  like  to  go  to 
church  with  me  this  morning,  Miss  Lyncle.  I  have 
heard  Helen  say  that  you  ai'e  not  a  Roman  Catholic." 

"I  am  hot  anything  at  all,"  answered  Marion; 
"  and  I  confess  that  I  do  not,  as  a  rule,  see  the  need 
of  church-going ;  but,  since  it  is  such  a  pleasant  day, 
and  you  are  so  kind  as  to  come,  Miss  Morley,  —  may 
I  ask  what  cluirch  you  attend?  " 

"  Oh,  Netta  is  an  Episcopalian!  "  interposed  Helen. 
"She  will  take  you  to  a  handsome  church,  filled  with 
well-dressed  people,  where  you  will  have  pretty  cere- 
monies and  nice  music  to  amuse  you." 

"Satire  is  not  in  your  style,  Helen,"  said  Marion, 


FAIJ^r    GOLD.  -^'3 

putting  out  ber  baud  to  giv^e  a,  soft  pincb  to  tbe  round 
arm  near  ber.  '•  But,  i-ince  you  give  sucb  an  littrac- 
tivo  dfscriptiou,  Ibclitve  1  will  go  Avitb  IVIiss  Morley." 

"  Tben  we  bave  not  mucb  time  to  spare,"  said  that 
young  lad}',  witb  a  glance  at  ber  dress,  as  a  concert 
of  bells  suddenly  burst  out. 

"  Ob,  I  will  be  read^'in  afew  minutes!  "  exclaimtil 
Marion,  smiling. 

Her  simple  toilet  was  soon  made,  yet  i:s  veiy 
simplicity'  enbanced  tbe  striking  cbaracttr  of  ber 
beaut}';  and  wben  sbe  followed  Miss  Morley  U[) 
ibe  softly-carpeted  aisle  of  tbe  Episcopal  cburcb, 
every  e^'e  turned  on  ber,  and  everyone  wondered 
wbo  sbe  could  be.  To  berself,  tbe  atmospbere 
wbicb  surrounded  ber  was  very  agreeable,  speak- 
ing as  it  did  of  wealtb  and  refined  tastes.  Beau- 
tiful  arcbitectural  forms,  polisbed  woods,  sttiined 
glass,  a  pretty  procession ;  sweet,  clear  voices  singing 
to  tbe  rlcb  roll  of  a  fine  organ;  and  a  congregation 
wbicb.  gave  tbe  impression  of  belonging  altogetber  to 
tbe  favored  classes  of  society, —  tbese  tbings  sbe 
liked,  independently  of  any  religious  association  or 
meaning. 

Indeed,  as  a  religious  ceremony,  tbe  service  seemed 
to  Marion  very  mucb  of  a  failure,  so  recently  bad  she 
witnessed  tbe  divine  Reality  of  worsbip.  Sbe  missed 
tbe  tbrill  of  awe  wbicb  bad  come  even  to  ber  when  the 
Sacred  Host  was  lifted  up  to  heaven  in  tbe  Mass  ;  and 
ber  keen,  unprejudiced  mind  realized  bow  entirel}'^ 
what  sbe  now  saw  was  only  tbe  mutilated  remnant  of 
an  older  and  grander  ritual.  "It  is  a  pity  that  tbe 
Catholic  religion  is  so  exacting,  and  that  so  many 
common  people  belong  to  it,"  sbe  thought ;   "  for  it  is 


44  FAIBY   GOLD. 

the  only  one  with  any  reality  about  it,  or  any  claim  to 
one's  respect." 

Nobody  would  have  suspected  tluse  reflections, 
however,  from  her  outward  deportment.  She  went 
through  the  service  decorously,  and  listened  witk 
exemplary  attention  to  the  sermon,  which  was  by  no 
means  contemptible  as  a  literarj^  effort.  Her  beautiful 
face  —  conspicuously  placed  in  one  of  the  front 
pews  —  somewhat  distracted  the  attention  of  ttie  young 
clergyman,  and  he  found  himself  now  and  again  look- 
ing from  his  MS.  to  ineet  the  large,  dark  eyes  fixed  so 
steadily  on  him.  But  Marion  herself  was  distracted  by 
no  one,  although  she  was  aware  of  the  appeaiance  and 
manner  of  everybody  in  her  immediate  neighborhood. 

Among  the  rest,  she  observed  a  lady  who  sat  near, 
and  more  than  pnee  glanced  inquiringly  toward  her; 
a  lady  of  specially  distinguished  and  fashionable 
appearance.  "  She  does  not  belong  to  Scarborough," 
thought  Marion,  noticing  (without  appearing  to  do  so) 
some  of  the  details  of  her  costume.  And  her  conclu- 
sion she  soon  found  was  correct.  When  the  services 
were  over,  and  the  congregation,  passing  out  of 
church,  interchanged  salutations  as  they  went.  Miss 
Morley  acknowledged  a  greeting  from  this  lady ;  and 
Marion,  as  they  walked  on,  said:  "  Who  is  that  hand- 
some and  elegant  woman?" 

"Mrs.  Singleton,"  was  the  reply.  "She  is  very 
handsome  and  very  elegant,  is  she  not?  But  she  does 
not  live  in  Scarborough ;  she  is  here  only  for  the 
summer." 

''  I  felt  sure  of  that,"  thought  Marion  —  though  she 
had  too  much  tact  to  say  so.  "  Who  is  she  ?  —  where 
does  she  come  from  ?  "  she  asked. 


FAIRY    GOLD.  45 

"  She  is  one  of  the  Singletons,"  answered  Netta  — 
"  at  least  ber  husband  is, —  and  you  know  who  they 
are.  They  appear  to  have  ample  means,  and  live  in 
a  great  many  places.  She  has  just  returned  from 
Eui-upe." 

"And  why  has  she  come  to  Scarborough?"  in- 
quired Marion,  in  a  tone  not  altogether  flattering  to 
that  place. 

"  Well,  cliiefly,  I  believe,  because  the  climate  here 
agrees  wonderfully  with  an  old  gentleman  who  is  her 
husband's  uncle,  to  whom  they  seem  to  devote  them- 
selves." 

"  Is  he  wealthy?"  asked  Marion,  with  unconscious 
cynicism. 

"Oh,  very!"  replied  Netta,  with  simplicity ;  "im- 
mensely rich,  I  believe,  and  has  no  children;  so  he 
lives  with  the  Singletons,  or  they  live  with  him." 

"  The  last  most  likely,"  said  Marion,  whose  knowl- 
edge of  life  was  largely  drawn  from  its  seam}'  side. 

The  conversation  ended  here,  and  she  thought  no 
more  of  it.  But  on  the  evening  of  the  next  day  Miss 
Morley  came  into  the  drawing  room  where  the  family 
group  were  assembled  after  tea,  and, turning  to  Marion, 
said :  — 

"  Do  you  remember  our  speaking  of  Mrs.  Singleton 
as  we  came  from  church  j'esterday,  Miss  Lynde } 
She  seems  to  have  been  as  much  impressed  by  you  as 
you  were  by  her.  I  met  her  on  the  street  this  morn- 
ing, and  she  slopped  me  to  ask  who  you  were.  I 
suppose  I  must  nut  venture  to  repeat  all  that  she  said 
of  your  appearance,  but  I  may  tell  you  that  slie  has 
some  connections  named  Lynde,  anil  that  she  is  very 
curious  lo  know  if  you  bel  ug    o  them." 


46  FAIEY    GOLD. 

"  I  am  sorry  that  I  can  not  satisf}^  her,"  said 
Marion,  who  showed  no  signs  of  being  as  flattered  as 
she  really  was.  "Family  genealogies  have  never 
interested  me.  If  my  uncle  were  here  now,  he  could 
tell  her  all  that  she  wished  to  know." 

"So  that  elegant  Mrs.  Singleton  is  in  Scarborough 
again  this  summer!  "  cried  Helen,  witli  interest. 
"  Is  the  same  old  gentleman  .with  her,  and  do  they 
still  keep  up  an  establishment  with  so  much  stjde  ?  " 

"Oh,  5' es !  "  her  cousin  answered.  "They  have 
taken  the  Norton  House  for  the  summer,  and  have 
brought  a  beautiful  carriage  and  horses,  and  servants, 
with  tliem.  Not  many  people  liav"  seen  llie  old 
gentleman  j^et.  I  hear  that  he  is  fi'ei)lcr  than  he  was 
last  year. 

"  Then  no  doubt  Mrs.  Singleton  stiU  laments  touch- 
ingly  how  sad  it  is  for  old  people  —  for  their  own 
sakes  entirely!  —  when  they  live  too  long,"  said  Paul 
Rathborne,  who  was  present  as  usual. 

"At  least  she  does  not  devote  much  of  her  time 
and  attention  to  him,"  responded  Mrs.  Dalton, 
"  unless  report  greatly  belies  her." 

"Why  should  she?"  said  Rathborne.  "He  has 
an  expensive,  hi ghh' -trained  nurse  for  his  special  ser- 
vice, besides  a  staff  of  servants.  What  could  she  do 
for  him,  except  worry  him?  Oh,  no:  it  is  not  on 
account  of  any  demand  upon  her  time  or  attention 
that  she  thinks  he  lives  too  long,  but  because  he  keeps 
his  fortune  in  his  own  hands,  and  will  until  death 
relaxes  his  hold  of  it." 

"  How  awful,"  exclaimed  Helen,  with  a  shudder, 
"  to  want  anj'body  to  die!  I  cannot  believe  that  Mrs. 
Singleton  does.     She  seems  so  kind  and  pleasant." 


FAIHY    GOLD.  47 

"  And  you  think  everyone  must  be  kind  and  pleas- 
ant who  seems  so?"  said  Rathborne,  with  a  covert 
sneer.  "  My  dear  Helen,  it  will  not  do  to  judge  the 
world  by  yourself." 

"Why  not?"  asked  Helen,  innocently.  "Why 
should  I  not  believe  that  others  are  honest  and  sin- 
cere as  well  as  myself?  " 

"  Well,  really  there  does  not  seem  any  i-eason  on 
the  surface,  except  that  experience  proves  it  other- 
wise," he  answered,  with  a  laugh. 

"  I  hope  it  may  be  long  before  experience  proves  it 
to  me,"  said  Helen.  "  I  can  not  bear  to  think  badly 
of  people.  It  seems  to  me  that  it  would  break  my 
heart  to  be  forced  to  think  badly  of  any  one  for  whom 
I  cared." 

If  one  heart  present  felt  a  twinge  of  compunction  at 
those  words,  there  was  no  sign  of  it ;  but  Mrs.  Dalton 
looked  at  her  daughter  with  a  sudden  glance  of  some- 
thing like  apprehension. 

"You  should  not  talk  in  such  away,  Helen,"  she 
said.  "  A  bi'oken  heart  is  not  a  thing  of  which  to 
speak  lightly." 

"  I  did  not  intend  to  speak  lightly,"  answered 
Helen.  "  I  meant  what  1  said  very  seriously.  I  do 
not  think  I  could  bear  it." 

"  That  is  foolish,"  continued  her  mother.  "  We 
must  bear  whatever  God  sends." 

"  I  do  not  think  Helen  will  ever  have  to  bear  a 
broken  heart,  or  anything  like  it,"  observed  Marion. 
' '  I  am  very  certain  that  she  is  made  for  happy 
fortune." 

"  No  one  in  the  world,  who  lives  for  any  length  of 
time,  can  know  unbrokenly  happy  fortune,"  said  Mrs. 


48  FAIBY    GOLD. 

Dalton,  gravely.     "  But  T  do  not  lliink  it  well  to  dis- 
cuss such  personal  subjects." 

"  Then  we  will  discuss  the  rich  old  man  who  has  a 
highly-trained  nurse  and  a  staff  of  seivants,"  said 
Marion,  laughingly.  "  Tell  me"  —  turning  to  Rath- 
borne  —  "  what  is  his  name?  " 

"  Singleton,"  replied  that  gentleman.  "  Have  you 
never  heard  of  him  ?  He  is  a  very  rich  man  ;  and  Tom 
Singleton  —  the  husband  of  the  lady  you  have  seen  — 
hopes  to  inherit  his  wealth." 

"  He  is  his  nearest  relative?  " 

"  Oh,  I  presume  there  are  other  nieces  and  nephews, 
but  he  is  a  favorite  of  the  old  man." 

"  Have  I  not  heard  something  of  a  disowned  sou?  " 
asked  Mrs.  Dalton. 

"A  disowned  son!"  repeated  Marion.  "I  did 
not  know  that  people  out  of  novels  —  and  even  in 
novels  it  has  gone  out  of  fashion  —  ever  disowned 
their  sons  now." 

"  As  I  have  heard  the  story,"  said  Rathborne,  "  it 
is  more  a  case  of  the  son  disowning  the  father.  He 
refused  to  comply  with  his  father's  wishes  in  any  re- 
spect, and  finally  broke  away  and  left  home,  going  off 
to  South  America,  I  believe.  He  has  not  been  heard 
of  for  a  considerable  number  of  years,  and  Tom 
Singleton  says  there  is  every  reason  to  believe  him 
dead.  Of  course  the  wish  is  father  to  the  thought 
with  ^m,  but  others  have  told  me  the  same  thing." 

"  Perhaps  his  father  drove  him  away  by  harshness, 
and  remorse  is  what  is  the  matter  with  him,"  said 
Netta  Morley,  solemnly. 

Rathborne  laughed.  "  From  my  knowledge  of  old 
Mr.  Singleton,"  he  replied,  "I  should  not  judge  that 


FAIRY    GOLD.  49 

remorse  preyed  upon  him  to  any  great  extent.  The 
son,  I  have  been  told,  was  a  wild,  rebellious  youth, 
whom  it  was  impossible  to  control  —  one  of  those 
unfortunate  human  beings  who  seem  born  to  go  wrong, 
and  whom  no  influence  can  restrain." 

"  Wliere  wiis  the  poor  boj-'s  mother?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Dal  ton. 

"  She  died  when  he  was  very  young.  But,  with  all 
due  deference  to  ihe  popular  idea  of  a  mother's  influ- 
ence, I  think  we  see  many  cases  in  which  it  fails 
altogether." 

"  Yes."  said  Mrs.  Dalton.  "  But  even  if  her  influ- 
ence fails,  her  patience  is  more  long-suffering  than 
that  of  anv  one  el«e,  and  her  love  is  more  enduring. 
Perhaps  this  bo}^  might  not  have  been  lost  if  his  mother 
had  lived." 

"  If  we  begin  with  '  perhaps  '  we  may  imagine  any- 
thing we  please,"  remarked  Rathborne,  in  a  tone  which 
Marion  had  learneil  to  understand  as  expressing  con- 
tempt for  the  Qpinion  advanced. 

"  Without  indulging  in  any  imagination  at  all,  so 
much  as  is  known  of  the  Singletons  is  very  interesting 
indeed,"  she  said,  in  her  clear,  fluent  voice.  "  If  I  see 
au}^  of  them,  I  shall  look  at  them  with  much  more 
attention  from  having  heard  this  romantic  story  of  a 
lost  son  and  a  great  fortune." 

"  I  think  you  are  very  likely  to  see  Mrs.  Singleton," 
observed  Netta.  "  She  spoke  as  if  she  desired  to 
make  your  acquaintance." 

"That  is  a  great  compliment  —  from  her,"  said 
Helen.  '•  What  an  impression  you  must  have  made, 
Marion!" 

4 


CHAPTER   V. 

EVENTS  soon  proved  that  Helen  was  right  in  say- 
ing that  Marion  must  have  made  an  impression 
upon  Mrs.  Singleton.  A  few  daj's  later  that 
lady's  card  was  brought  to  Mrs.  Dalton,  who  regarded 
it  with  mild  surprise,  saying,  "  Why,  I  have  not 
called  on  her  since  her  arrival  this  summer  I  " 

"But  you  called  on  her  last  summer,"  said  Helen; 
"  and  I  suppose  she  has  some  reason  for  coming  with- 
out waiting  for  you  to  make  another  formal  visit. 
Pray  find  out  what  it  is." 

It  was  not  at  all  difficult  to  discover  Mrs.  Single- 
ton's reason  for  the  visit.  She  declared  it  frankly 
and  at  once.  "  I  hear  that  you  have  your  charming 
daughter  at  home,  Mrs.  Dalton,"  she  said;  "and, 
knowing  her  accomplishments,  I  want  to  secure  her 
aid  for  some  musical  evenings  I  am  anxious  to  in- 
augurate. Mr.  Singleton  —  m}'  husband's  uncle  — 
finds  almost  his  only  pleasure  in  music  ;  so  I  desire 
very  much  that  these  evenings  shall  be  a  success. 
Do  you  think  Miss  Morley  will  assist  me?  " 

"  I  have  no  doubt  she  will  be  verj'  glad  to  do  so," 
answered  Mrs.  Dalton. 

"  I  am  delighted  to  hear  it.  And  I  am  told  that  a 
very  striking-looking  young  lady,  whom  I  saw  in 
(50) 


FAIBY    GOLD.  61 

church  with  Miss  Netta  Morley  last  Sunday,  is  your 
niece.     Has  she,  also,  taste  and  talent  for  music?  " 

"  Oh!  yes  ;  she  has  a  finer  voice  than  Helen,"  said 
Mrs.  Dalton,  "  and  sings  much  better." 

"  How  very  charming  for  me !  "  cried  Mrs.  Single- 
ton. "  May  I  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  the  young 
ladies?  I  should  like  to  have  their  definite  promise 
to  help  me." 

The  young  ladies  were  summoned,  and  very  readily 
gave  the  promise  asked  of  them.  They  would  be 
delighted,  they  said,  to  assist  to  the  full  extent  of 
their  musical  abilities.  "And  when,"  Helen  asked, 
"  will  the  evenings  begin?  " 

"Oh!  at  once,"  Mrs.  Singleton  replied.  "On 
every  Wednesday  I  hope  to  gather  all  the  musical 
talent  of  Scarborough  into  my  drawing-room.  I  shall 
send  out  my  cards  immediately  to  that  effect.  You 
don't  know,  Miss  Lynde,"  —  turning  to  Marion  — 
"how  pleased  I  am  to  find  unexpectedly  such  an 
addition  as  1  am  sure  you  will  prove." 

Marion  smiled.  "You  are  very  kind,"  she  said; 
"  but  I  fear  you  are  taking  too  much  for  granted.  I 
am  not  a  good  musician.  I  have  never  had  industry 
enough.     Helen  plays  much  better  than  1  do." 

"  Oh,  but,  Marion,  your  voice  is  so  fine!  "  cried 
Helen.      "  And  everyone  likes  singing  best." 

"  /  do,  I  confess,"  said  Mrs.  Singleton.  "  And  so, 
I  think,  does  my  uncle.  I  have  no  doubt  that  you 
sing  well,  Miss  Lynde." 

"That  is  kind  of  you  again,"  responded  Marion; 
"  but  I  must  warn  you  that  Helen  is  not  altogether  a 
trustworthy  witness.  She  always  thinks  well  of  what 
her  friends  do,  and  poorly  of  what  she  does  herself." 


52  FAIRY    GOLD. 

"  I  am  willing  to  wait  and  let  Mrs.  Singleton  decide 
whether  oc  not  I  think  too  well  of  what  you  do," 
observed  Helen,  with  a  gay  little  Dod. 

"Mrs.  Singleton  has  no  doubt  what  her  decision 
will  be,"  said  that  lady.  "Meanwhile,  Miss  Lynde, 
I  wonder  if  we  are  not  related  in  someway?  I  am 
very  certain  that  the  Singletons  have  connections  of 
your  name,  and  I  fancy  it  must  be  your  family." 

"  It  is  likely,"  answered  Marion  ;  "  but  matters  of 
pedigree  and  relationship  have  never  interested  me 
sufficiently  for  me  to  know  much  about  them.  I  re- 
gret that  fact  now,"  she  continued,  with  unusual 
graciousuess  ;  for  she  felt  that  she  would  not  be  sorry 
to  be  able  to  claim  relationship  with  peo[)le  of  such 
social  position  as  these  were. 

"  Oh!  "  said  Mrs.  Singleton,  "  ray  uncle  will  know 
all  about  it,  I  am  sure.  Like  most  people  of  the  old 
school,  he  thinks  a  great  deal  of  such  things.  And  I 
hope  I  may  prove  right  in  my  conjecture,"  she  added, 
as  she  rose  to  take  leave. 

^'■WJiat  an  impression  you  must  have  made  upon 
her,  Marion!"  cried  Helen,  as  soon  as  they  were 
alone.  "Do  you  know  that  she  is  usually  the  most 
supercilious  woman,  and  so  haughty  that  the  idea  of 
her  claiming  relationship  with  any  ordinary  person 
seems  incredible!  " 

"  Do  you  consider  me  an  ordinary  person?  "  asked 
Marion,  laughing,  as  she  walked  towanl  a  mirror. 
"  I  am  exceedingly  obliged  to  you." 

"  You  know  that  I  consider  3'ou  a  most  extraordinary 
person,"  answered  Helen,  with  emphasis  ;  "  but  Mrs, 
Singleton  does  not  know  yet  what  you  are  in  yourself, 
and  —  and  you  are  not  rich  or —  " 


FAIEY    GOLD.  53 

"  Distinguished  in  any  way,"  said  Marion,  as  slie 
paused.  "  There  is  no  doubt  of  that.  As  far  as  the 
outward  accidents  of  Hfe  go,  I  am  a  very  insignificant 
person.  But  I  shall  not  be  so  always,  Helen.  I  am 
sure  of  that ;  and  people  who  know  the  world  seem  to 
have  an  instinct  of  it  also." 

Helen  looked  at  the  fair  face  which,  with  such  an 
air  of  conscious  power,  regarded  itself  in  the  mirror. 
To  her  this  ambition  belonged  to  the  order  of  inexpli- 
cable things  ;  yet  she  had  a  belief  that  it  was  natural 
enough  in  Marion,  and  that  it  was  fully  justified  by- 
gifts  which  she  acknowledged  without  defining. 

"  No  one  could  know  you  and  not  be  sure  of  it," 
she  said,  in  answer  to  tlie  last  speech.  "Of  course 
you  will  fill  some  great  place  in  the  world  —  we  settled 
that  long  ago.  But  I  do  think  it  strange  that  Mrs. 
Singleton  should  recognize  how  remarkable  j^ou  are  — 
so  soon." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  an  imlication  that  other  people  will 
recognize  it  too,"  replied  Marion,  with  a  smile  ;  while 
she  said  to  herself  that  one  other  person  had  recog- 
nized it  already. 

And,  indeed,  the  recognition  of  that  person  had  by 
this  time  become  sufficiently  evitlent  to  everyone.  In 
the  innocence  of  her  heart,  Helen  rejoiced  that  her 
hero  and  oracle  agreed  with  her  in  admiring  the  cousia 
whom  she  admired  so  much.  "  I  knew  how  it  would 
be!"  she  said  to  him,  triumphantly.  "  You  miyht 
be  critical  about  other  people,  but  I  knew  you  must 
acknowledge  that  Marion  is  beyond  criiicism." 

"  That,  however,  is  just  what  I  don't  acknowledge," 
Rathborne  answered,  laughingly.  "  Miss  Lyu'leisby 
no  means  beyond  criticism;   she  is  only  a  brantiful 


54  FAIEY   GOLD. 

and  clever  3'oung  lady,  who  lias  clearly  determined 
to  do  the  best  for  herself  without  much  regard  for 
others." 

"  Marion  has  never  been  taught  or  accustomed  to 
think  of  others,"  said  gentle  Helen.  "But  I  do  not 
think  she  would  harm  any  one  for  her  own  advantage." 

"Oh!  no;  she  would  only  quietly  walk  over  the 
person  who  was  unlucky  enough  to  get  in  her  way." 
remarkefl  Rathborne.  "  And  it  is  not  1  who  would 
blame  her  for  that." 

Helen  looked  at  him  reproachfully.  "  Now  you 
are  doing  j^ourself  injustice,"  she  said.  "1  under- 
stand that  you  do  not  mean  anvthing  of  the  kind, 
but  such  remarks  make  others  think  badly  of  you." 

''No  doubt,"  he  replied,  carelessly;  "but,  my 
dear  Helen,  there  is  nothing  in  the  world  of  less  im- 
portance to  me  than  what  others  —  the  class  of  others 
you  mean  —  think  of  me." 

"  But  it  is  of  great  importance  to  me,"  said  Helen. 
*'I  cannot  bear  that  you  should  be  misjudged  by 
any  one." 

He  laughed  —  people  were  right  who  said  of  Rath- 
borne  that  he  had  not  a  pleasant  laugh  —  as  he 
replied,  "Who  can  say  when  one  is  misjudged? 
Don't  trouble  yourself  about  that.  As  long  as  jou 
are  satisfied  with  me,  I  can  snap  my  fingers  at  the  rest 
of  the  world. ' ' 

"You  know  how  well  I  am  satisfied,"  said   Helen. 

"Yes,  I  know,"  he  answered,  with  a  short  thrill  of 
compunction.  "  I  am  not  all  you  think  me,  Helen. 
The  '  others,'  whose  opinion  makes  j'ou  indignant,  are 
nearer  light  than  you  are,  if  the  truth  were  known, 
I  suspect." 


FAIBY    GOLD.  55 

"You  shall  not  say  such  things!"  cried  Helen. 
"There  is  nothing  1  could  want  changed  in  you, 
except" — her  face  fell  a  little — "except  your  re- 
ligion. If  you  were  only  a  Catholic  I  should  be 
perfectly  happy.  " 

Eathborne  smiled  a  little,  as  one  would  at  the  folly 
of  a  child.  "la  Catholic!"  he  said.  "  My  imagi- 
nation is  not  strong  enough  to  fancy  that.  No,  my 
dear  little  Helen;  you  must  be  content  with  me  as 
I  am." 

"  Have  you  read  the  book  I  gave  you  — which  you 
promised  to  read?"  asked  Helen,  wistfully. 

"  I  glanced  into  it  —  because  I  promised  you,"  he 
answered  ;  "  but  I  found  little  of  interest,  and  nothing 
to  change  my  convictions.  Do  not  indulge  the  hope 
that  they  ever  will  be  changed.  Let  us  understand 
each  other  on  that  point  from  the  first.  You  are  at 
liberty  to  believe  and  practice  what  you  like,  and  I 
claim  the  same  liberty  for  myself.  Is  not  that 
just?" 

"I  —  suppose  so,"  answered  Helen,  whose  forte 
was  not  controversy,  and  whose  eyes  were  full  of 
tears.  "  But  surely  you  wish  to  believe  and  practice 
the  truth?" 

Rathborne  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  What  is 
truth?  "  he  said.  "There  is  ancient  and  high  author- 
ity for  that  question,  and  I  don't  know  that  it  has 
ever  been  answered  satisfactorily.  I  shall  not  en- 
deavor to  begin  to  answer  it.  And  I  shall  not  take 
an  answer  from  the  lips  of  a  priest.  Now  let  us 
change  the  subject." 

The  subject  was  changed,  but  poor  Helen's  heart 
was  heavier  than  before  it  was  begun.     Whenever  she 


56  FAIRY    GOLD. 

did  not  talk  to  Rathborne  on  tlie  subject  of  religion, 
she  indulged  a  hope  of  his  conversion,  founded  on  her 
own  ardent  desire  ;  but  whenever  she  timidly  opened 
the  subject,  she  felt  the  hopelessness  of  moving  this 
nature  so  deeply  rooted  in  self-opinion,  spiritual  in- 
difference, and  worldly  interests.  At  such  times  her 
poor  little  heart  had  its  first  taste  of  bitterness  of 
life,  —  that  bitterness  which  is  so  largely  made  up  of 
the  jarring  of  different  natm-es  and  of  irreconcilable 
desires. 

Meanwhile  some  irreconcilable  desires  had  begun  to 
disturb  the  even  current  of  Rathborne' s  carefully- 
planned  life.  For  years  he  had  seen  very  clearly 
what  he  meant  to  do  —  first  to  marry  Helen,  in  order 
to  secure  the  financial  independence  which  her  fortune 
would  give  ;  and  then  to  climb,  by  certain  well-marked 
steps,  the  ladder  of  professional  and  political  eminence. 
He  had  never  hesitated  or  wavered  for  an  instant  in 
this  plan,  neither  had  any  obstacle  ai'isen  in  his  way. 
Helen  had  yielded  to  his  influence,  her  mother's  oppo- 
sition was  easily  overcome,  his  professional  success 
was  all  that  he  could  desire,  and  already  he  was 
known  as  a  man  certain  to  gain  the  coveted  prizes  of 
public  life. 

But  now  into  this  well-ordered  and  orderly  existence 
a  distraction  came.  A  beautiful,  imperious,  ambitious 
woman  suddenly  appeared  in  his  path,  and  the  strong- 
est temptation  of  his  life  assailed  him  —  the  temptation 
to  give  up  Helen  and  her  fortune  for  Marion  and 
Marion's  striking  gifts.  "  What  might  not  a  man 
accomplish  with  such  a  brilliant  and  ambitious  spirit 
to  aid  his  own  ambition!  "  he  said  to  himself,  and  so 
felt  the  temptation  grow  daily  stronger.     Yet  he  was 


FAIET   aOLDi  57" 

well  aware  that  in  giving  up  Helen,  he  wr.uld  give  up  • 
more  than  her  affection  (which  he  did  not  count  at 
all),  and  her  fortune  (which  he  counted  very  heavily)  : 
he  would  give  up  also  a  large  and  influential  family  - 
connection,  and  the  respect  of    every  person   of  his 
acquaintance  whose  respect  was  woi'th  most  to  him. 
He  felt,  however,  that  he  might  make  up  his  mind  to  • 
the  last,  if  it  were  all ;  for  he  was  too  cynical  and  had 
too  thorough  a  knowledge  of  the  world  not  to  know 
that  people  do  not  long  remember  anything  to  the  dis- 
advantage of  a  successful  man.     But  to  resign  Helen's  - 
fortune,  after  the  careful  work  of  years  to  secure  it, 
was  something  more  difficult  to  him  ;  and  he  had  by 
no  means  made  up  his  mind  to  do  so  when  the  above  • 
conversation  took  place. 

It  was  the  day  of  Mrs.  Singleton's  musicale;  and 
presently  Rathborne,  who  found  conversation  tiresome  ■ 
to  maintain,  said  as  he  rose  to  go  :  "  Shall  I  accompany 
you  this  evening?     Of  course  I  have  had  a  card  like  • 
everyone  else." 

"Oh!  yes;  come  by  all  means,"  replied  Helen. 
"  Mamma  is  going  with  us,  and  Netta  and  Frank  are 
to  call  by ;  but  it  is  always  pleasant  to  have  you." 

"It  is  not  pleasant  to  me,  however,  to  form  one  of 
a  caravan,"  he  said,  with  some  impatience.  "  If  I 
am  to  accompany  you,  can  you  not  dispense  with  Miss 
Morley  and  her  brother.^  " 

"I  hardly  like  to  tell  them  not  to  come;  and  why 
should  you  object  to  them?     It  is  pleasant  for  us  all  . 
to  go  together." 

"Do   you   think   so?"    said   Rathborne,  with  the 
sneer  which  came  so  readily  to  his  lip.     Some  words  , 
of  Marion's  recurred  to  his  mind.     "  Helen  is  so  gre- 


58  FAIBY   GOLD. 

garious  and  so  easily  pleased,"  that  young  lady  had 
said,  "  that  I  think  she  would  like  to  live  always  with 
a  mob  of  people."  But  foi'  the  memory  of  this  speech 
he  might  not  have  felt  so  irritated  with  a  harmless  and 
amiable  love  of  companionship ;  but  the  contempt 
which  dictated  the  words  found  a  ready  echo  in  his 
own  mind. 

"If  your  cousins  are  going  to  accompany  you, 
there  is  no  need  for  me,"  he  observed  ;  "  so  I  will  con- 
tent myself  with  meeting  you  at  Mrs.  Singleton's. 
Good-morning!  " 

"  Oh,  I  am  sorry!  "  said  Helen,  with  quick  regret. 
"  Netta  and  Frank  would  think  it  very  strange,  else  I 
would  send  and  ask  them  not  to  come  —  " 

"Not  on  my  account,  I  beg,"  responded  Rath- 
borne.  "  I  am  very  well  satisfied  with  matters  as 
they  are.  It  gives  me  the  opportunity  of  choosing 
my  own  time  to  appear." 

"Don't  be  too  late,"  said  Helen.  "You  know 
that  Marion  and  I  are  both  going  to  sing  ;  and  Marion, 
I  am  sure,  will  do  her  best." 

"  And  you  also,  I  hope." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  I  am  not  like  Marion.  A 
public  performance  unnerves  me,  but  it  always  puts 
her  at  her  best.  You  will  hear  to-night  how  much 
better  she  will  sing  for  a  number  of  people  than  she 
has  ever  sung  for  a  small  circle." 

"I  shall  certainly  hear,"  said  Rathborne.  "Tell 
Miss  Lynde  that  I  am  preparing  mj'self  to  be  elec- 
trified." 

Perhaps  he  was  aware  in  uttering  these  words  that 
Miss  Lynde  had  appeared  in  the  open  door  behind 
him.     At  least  there  was  no  surprise  on  his  face,  but 


FAJBY    GOLD.  59 

a  great  deal  of  satisfaction,  wlieu  she  came  forward, 
saying:  — 

"And  why,  pva-y,  Mr.  Rathborne,  should  you  be 
preparing  yourself  to  be  electrified?  " 

"  Because  Helen  has  just  been  telling  me  how  much 
you  are  inspired  by  an  audience,"  he  answered; 
"and  you  are  to  have  all  Scarborough  for  your 
audience." 

She  made  a  gesture  of  indifference.  "  Give  me 
credit,"  she  said,  "for  caring  a  little  more  for  the 
quality  than  the  mere  quantity  of  appreciation.  '  All 
Scarborough  '  does  not  mean  a  great  deal  to  me,  I 
assure  you." 

"  Such  as  it  is,  though,  it  will  be  at  your  feet,"  he 
said.     "  Do  not  scorn  it." 

"  I  shall  certainly  wait  until  it  is  at  my  feet  to 
begin  to  do  so,"  she  answered,  with  a  laugh. 

"It  is  not  good  policy  to  scorn  even  that  which 
is  at  your  feet,"  he  said.  "  You  may  need  it  some 
day." 

"Be  sure  that  I  have  no  inclination  to  scorn  any 
kindness  that  comes  in  my  way,"  she  observed, 
quickly.  "You  do  me  injustice  if  you  believe  me 
capable  of  that." 

"  Then  you  will  not  scorn  your  audience  to-night," 
he  answered;  "for  I  am  sure  you  will  meet  nothing 
but  kindness  from  it." 


CHAPTER   VI. 

NEVER  was  a  prophecy  better  fulfilled  than  that 
of  Rathborne ;  for  no  one  of  the  large  com- 
pany assembled  in  Mrs.  Singleton's  spacious 
drawing-room  but  felt  prepared  to  admire  and  ap- 
prove the  beautiful  young  stranger,  who  was  led  to 
the  piano  by  her  host  when  the  musical  programme 
was  about  half  over.  Everybody  had  an  instinct  that 
the  star  of  the  evening  had  now  appeared  —  that  one 
who  looked  so  proud  and  confident  was  not  likely  to 
entertain  them  with  a  mediocre  performance.  And, 
indeed,  Marion,  who  had  professed  to  scorn  "  all 
Scai'borough,"  was  sufllciently  inspired  by  her  audi- 
ence to  feel  capable  of  doing  her  best.  As  the  first 
notes  of  the  accompaniment  were  struck,  she  threw 
back  her  head  like  one  who  answers  to  a  challenge ; 
and  when  she  opened,  her  lips  such  a  tide  of  melod}' 
rose,  such  crystal-clear  notes,  such  a  flood  of  pure, 
sweet  sound,  that  even  the  lowest  undertone  of  con- 
versation stopped,  and  people  held  their  breath  to 
listen. 

Rathborne,  who  l)ad  been  late  in  arriving,  and  who 
stood  just  outside  one  of  the  open  windows,  conven- 
ientl}'  sheltered  from  observation,  smiled  to  himself  as 
he  "watched  the  scene  within.  It  w^as  one  which  gave 
him  as  much  pleasure  as  his  nature  was  capable  of 
(GO) 


FAIBY    GOLD.  61 

feeling.  Tliat  beautiful,  statel}-  figure  beside  the 
piano,  with  its  regal  bearing  and  crown  of  red-gold 
hair,  deserved  to  be  the  center  of  all  attention ;  and 
suited  his  own  taste  so  exactly  that  he  did  not  even 
perceive  Helen's  sweet,  smiling  face  near  by.  It  did 
not  surjDrise  him  that  Marion  sang  as  he  had  never 
heard  her  sing  before.  He  had  read  her  character 
accurately  enough,  by  the  light  of  his  own,  to  feel 
sure  that  she  would  never  fail  when  occasion  called 
for  display. 

His  glance  swept  around  the  apartment,  taking  in 
the  expressions  of  the  various  faces,  and  finally  fasten- 
ing on  one  that  was  partly  sheltered  behind  a  curtain  at 
the  end  of  the  room.  This  curtain  fell  between  the 
drawing-room  and  a  smaller  apartment  opening  from 
it.  Now  and  then  during  the  course  of  the  evening  a 
few  of  the  oldest  and  most  distinguished  of  Mrs. 
.  Singleton's  guests  were  admitted  to  the  smaller  apart- 
ment, where  it  was  understood  that  "  old  Mr.  Single- 
ton" was  established  to  listen  to  the  music  at  his  ease. 
It  must  have  been  very  much  at  his  ease  that  he 
listened  ;  for  he  had  given  no  sign  of  his  presence  or 
appreciation  until  now,  when  —  as  if  Marion's  clear, 
ringing  notes  had  been  a  spell  —  Rathborne  observed 
at  the  opening  of  the  curtain  a  thin  face,  with  a  high, 
aquiline  nose  and  white  moustache. 

Mrs.  Singleton  also  observed  it ;  and  as  soon  as  the 
song  was  ended,  leaving  others  to  crowd  around  the 
singer  and  express  their  admiration,  she  walked  to  the 
curtained  arch  and  exchanged  a  few  words  with  the 
person  sheltered  behind  it.  Then,  turning,  she 
crossed  the  room  and  deftly  made  her  way  to  Marion's 
side. 


62  FAIBY   GOLD. 

"My  dear  Miss  Lynde,"  she  exclaimed,  "what  a 
pleasure  you  have  given  us !  What  a  delight  to  hear 
siicli  a  voice  as  yours!  My  uncle  is  charmed,  and  he 
begs  that  you  will  sing  again.  Of  course  we  all  beg 
that  you  will,  but  I  give  his  request  first,  because  it  is 
a  very  great  compliment  —  from  him." 

It  was  certainly  a  compliment  which  he  had  paid  no 
one  else;  and  Marion  smiled  with  a  sense  of  triumph. 
She  preserved  due  modesty  of  manner  and  appearance, 
however,  as  she  said:  "  I  am  exceedingly  glad  that  I 
have  been  able  to  give  pleasure  to  Mr.  .Singleton  ;  per- 
haps tliere  is  some  special  song  that  he  would  like  to 
hear?  " 

"Oh!  I  am  sure  he  will  like  to  hear  anything 
that  3^ou  sing,"  replied  Mrs.  Singleton,  who  did  not 
wish  to  delay  the  amusement  of  the  evening  long 
enough  to  make  inquiry. 

So  Marion  sang  again,  with  increased  self-confidence  , 
and  success;  and  the  thin,  keen  face  appeared  ajiain 
at  the  opening  of  the  curtains,  as  if  looking  were  no 
less  a  pleasure  than  listening. 

But,  this  song  over,  Mrs.  Singleton  was  too  wise  a 
hostess  to  encourage  any  request  for  a  third.  "We 
must  not  ask  too  much  of  Miss  Lj^nde's  kindness," 
she  said.  '  •  Later  in  the  evening,  perhaps  she  will 
sing  for  us  again  ;  and  we  must  be  reasonable.  Miss 
Royston  is  going  to  play  for  us  now." 

Miss  Royston,  a  tall,  angular  young  lady,  whose 
elbows  seemed  unduly  developed,  took  her  seat  on  the 
piano-stool,  struck  a  few  crashing  cords,  and  began  a 
sonata.  Being  fresh  from  a  conservatory  of  music, 
and  having  a  severely  classical  taste,  she  was  undt-r- 
stood   to   be    a  very  fine  musician  —  a  fact  taken  on 


FAIEY    GOLD.  63 

trust  by  most  of  those  who  composed  her  present 
audience ;  but  very  soon  a  conversational  murmur 
b'gau  to  be  heard ;  those  who  were  near  windows 
slipped  out  on  the  veranda  "to  enjoj'  thi;  cool  air 
while  they  listened,"  and  there  was  no  longer  any 
glimpse  of  the  aquiline  nose  and  white  moustache  at 
the  opening  of  the  20ortie res. 

Marion,  who  had  not  been  conscious  of  this  brief, 
partial  appearance  of  the  invalid  recluse,  for  whose 
amusement  the  entertainment  had  been  arranged, 
whispered  to  Helen,  by  whom  she  sat  down  :  "I  won- 
der how  Mr.  Singleton  likes  this?  " 

"  Not  as  well  as  your  singing,  I  am  sure,"  answered 
Helen,  in  the  same  tone;  "  for  all  the  time  you  were 
singing  he  was  looking  at  you  from  behind  those 
curtains  3-onder. " 

"Was  he  indeed?"  said  Marion.  She  looked  at 
the  now  closed,  unresponsive  curtains  with  a  quick 
glance  of  Interest.  "  What  does  he  look  like?  I  wish 
I  had  seen  him." 

"  When  you  sing  again,  glance  over  there  and  you 
will  certainly  be  gratified."  said  Helen.  "  But  here 
comes  Paul  at  last.  He  has  missid  your  singinsf ;  is 
not  that  too  bad  ?  ' ' 

"  I  doubt  very  much  if  he  considers  it  so,"  replied 
Marion.  "  He  has  heard  me  several  times  and  never 
expressed  any  particular  i)leasure,  that  I  remember  " 

"That  is  Paul's  way,"  said  Helen,  eagerly.  "It 
is  hard  to  tell  what  he  feels  l«y  what  he  expresses.  He 
admires  your  voice  very  much.     I  am  sure  of  that." 

"  What  is  it  you  are  so  sure  of,  Helen?"  asked 
Ratliborne,  who  hid  drawn  near  enough  to  hear  the 
last  words  through  the  crash  of  the  piano. 


64  FAIBY   GOLD. 

"That  3'ou  are  very  sorry  not  to  have  heard 
Marion's  singing,"  answered  Helen,  looking  up  into 
his  face  with  a  smile. 

"  I  should  certainly  have  been  very  sorrj'  if  I  had 
not  heard  it,"  he  said;  "  but,  as  it  happens,  I  had 
that  pleasure.  And  it  was  just  as  I  expected,"  he 
added,  turning  to  Marion.  "  You  sang  as  I  never 
heard  3-ou  sing  before.  An  audience  inspires  you  — 
an  occasion  calls  forth  all  yonv  power." 

She  laughed  softly.  "  Perhaps  it  was  not  the  audi- 
ence or  the  occasion  so  much  as  the  consciousness  of 
Mr.  Singleton's  presence,  and  a  desire  to  evoke  some 
sign  of  interest  from  a  critic  who  buries  himself  in 
silence  behind  drawn  curtains." 

"  Well,  if  so,  3'ou  evoked  it.  I  congratulate  you 
upon  that." 

"Helen  was  just  telling  me  that  he  vouchsafed  a 
glimpse  of  himself  during  my  song.  I  wish  I  had 
seen  him.     I  have  a  curiosit}^  to  know  what  he  is  like." 

"Like  a  very  ordinary  old  man,"  observed  Rath- 
borne,  carelessly.  "  But  here  comes  Mrs.  Singleton  — 
to  tell  us,  perhaps,  that  we  should  not  be  talking  while 
the  music  is  going  on." 

So  far  from  that,  Mrs.  Singleton  began  at  once  to 
talk  herself,  in  a  discreetly  lowered  tone.  "  Miss 
Lynde,"  she  said,  "  I  hope  j'ou  have  no  objection  to 
making  the  acquaintance  of  my  uncle .?  He  has  asked 
ine  to  bring  you  in  to  see  him.  He  is  an  old  man, 
3'ou  know,  and  an  invalid,  so  you  will  excuse  liis  not 
coming  to  see  yon." 

"  I  shall  be  delighted  to  go  to  him,"  answered  Ma- 
j.*ion,  with  ready  courtesy  and  grace. 

So  the  entire  company  were  surprised  and  interested 


FAIBY    GOLD.  65 

to  see  their  hostess  leading  the  young  stranger  across 
the  room  to  the  jealously-guarded  inner  apartment 
where  Mr.  Singleton  was  secluded.  All  eyes  followed 
them  curiously,  and  lingered  oii  the  curtains,  wliich 
Mrs.  Singleton  held  back  for  a  moment  while  Marion 
passed  within,  and  then  let  fall. 

Marion's  own  curiosity  and  gratification  were 
equally  balanced.  It  was  like  a  public  triumph  to  be 
led  in  this  manner  behind  these  curtains,  which  had 
opened  for  no  other  of  the  performers  of  the  evening. 
Evidently  this  rich  and  presumably  fastidious  old  man 
was  to  be  included  in  the  number  of  those  who  rec- 
ognized her  to  be  something  more  than  ordinar}'. 
The  instant  that  the  portieres  were  drawn  back,  she 
looked  eagerly  into  the  apartment  thus  revealed. 

It  was  smaller  than  the  drawing-room  behind  her, 
and  was  luxuriously  furnished.  The  light  which  filled 
it  was  softly  toned  and  shaded,  but  quite  brilliant 
enough  to  show  all  the  variety  of  silken-covered  chairs 
and  couches,  the  richly-blended  tints  of  Eastern  rugs, 
the  carved  tables  and  stands  covered  with  books  and 
papers.  Sunk  in  the  depths  of  one  of  the  easiest  of 
these  easy-chairs  was  a  small,  sligbt  man;  his  wasted 
face,  with  its  high,  distinct  features,  snowy  hair,  and 
moustacbe,  thrown  into  relief  against  the  back  of  the 
chair  on  which  he  leaned.  His  hands,  which  rested 
on  its  arms,  were  like  pieces  of  delicate  ivory  carving, 
and  his  whole  appearance  spoke  as  distinctly  of  refine- 
ment as  of  ill  health.  Seated  opposite  him  was  an 
old  gentleman,  whose  robust  aspect  was  in  strong 
contrast  with  his  own,  and  who  was  talking  in  a  tone 
which  showed  that  he  took  no  heed  of  the  music  in  the 
next  room. 


66  FAIRY    GOLD. 

He  paused  and  rose  at  sight  of  the  two  ladies  ;  but 
Mr.  Siugletou  did  not  stir,  though  Marion  felt  his 
bright,  keen  eyes  fastened  on  her  at  once.  She 
followed  her  hostess,  who  went  forward  to  his 
chair. 

"Here  is  Miss  L3'nde,  who  has  come  to  see  you, 
uncle,"  said  that  lady. 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  Miss  Lynde,"  replied  Mr.  Sin- 
gleton, with  the  air  of  the  old  school  —  that  air  which 
a  j-ouugcr  generation  has  lost  and  forgotten.  He 
held  out  his  hand,  and,  when  Marion  laid  her  own  in 
it,  looked  at  her  with  an  admiraiion  to  which  she  had 
always  been  accustomed,  and  an  evident  pleasure  la 
the  contemplation  of  so  much  beauty.  "Will  you  sit 
down?"  he  said,  after  a  moment,  indicating  a  low 
chair  b}'  his  side.  "  I  want  3'ou  to  tell  me  where  you 
learned  to  sing  so  well." 

"  Where  do  the  birds  learn?"  asked  INIarion,  smil- 
inar.  "  I  have  sung-  like  the  birds  as  long  as  I  can 
remember;  although,  of  course,  I  have  liad  some 
teaching.     Not  a  great  deal,  however." 

"It  is  a  pity  that  you  should  not  have  more,"  he 
said.  "  Your  voice,  if  fully  trained,  would  be  magnifi- 
cent. But,  as  it  is,  you  sing  remarkably  well ;  you 
have  no  vices  of  style,  and  you  have  given  me  a  great 
deal  of  pleasure." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  liave  given  you  pleasure," 
answered  Marion,  with  an  air  of  gracious  sincerity. 
"  Mrs.  Singleton  has  told  me  that  you  are  very  fond 
of  music." 

He  made  a  slight  grimace.  "  I  am  very  fond  of 
good  music,"  he  said;  "  but  I  do  not  hear  a  great 
deal  of  it  from  amateurs.      When  Anna  told  me  of  the 


FAIllY    GOLD.  67 

entertainment  she  had  arranged,  I  had  little  idea  of 
hearing  such  a  voice  as  j^oiirs." 

Marion  laughed.  "  While  I  was  singing,"  she  said, 
"  I  had  something-  of  the  feeling  "which  I  imagine  the 

o  o  o 

singers  must  have  who  are  obliged  now  and  then  to  go 
through  an  opera  in  an  empty  theater,  for  the  sole 
beueCit  of  the  King  of  Bavaria,  who  is  invisible  in 
his  box." 

"  But  you  had  plentv  of  visible  listeners  besides  the 
invisible  one,"  said  Mr.  Singleton. 

"  I  thougrht  nothing  of  them,"  she  answered.  "I 
was  singing  to  you  altogether,  and  now  I  feel  as  if  I 
had  been  summoned  to  the  royal  box  to  be  compli- 
minted." 

There  was  a  playfulness  in  the  words  which; 
deprived  them  of  any  appearance  of  flatter}',  yet  it  was 
evident  that  Mr.  Singleton  was  not  ill-pleased  at  being 
compared  to  royalty  —  even  such  eccentric  royalty  as 
that  of  the  then  living  King  of  Bavaria. 

"To  carry  out  the  comparison,"  he  said,  smiling^ 
"  I  ought  to  have  a  diamond  bracelet  to  clasp  on 
your  arm.  Such  are  the  substantial  compliments  of 
royalty.  But,  instead,  I  am  going  to  ask  a  favor 
of  you  —  a  very  great  favor.  Will  you  come  some 
time  and  sing  to  me  alone .?  I  promise  you  that  I  will 
not  be  invisible  on  that  occasion." 

"  I  shall  be  very  happy  to  do  so,"  she  answered, 
promptly.  '"It  will  be  a  real  pleasure  to  myself. 
Tell  me  when  I  shall  come." 

"  That  must  be  settled  hereafter.  My  health,  and 
consequently  my  state  of  feeling,  is  very  uncertain. 
Sometimes  even  music  jars  on  me.  Anna  shall  see 
you  and  arrange  it." 


68  FAIEY    GOLD. 

Mrs.  Singleton,  hearing  ber  name,  turned  from  a 
conversation  which  she  had  been  maintaining  witli  the 
gentleman  who  was  the  other  occu[)ant  of  the  room. 

"  What  is  it  that  I  am  to  arrange?  "  she  asked. 
"  That  Miss  Lynde  will  come  sometime  and  sing  to  us 
alone?  Oh,  that  will  be  charming!  But  now  I  must 
go  back  to  my  duties,  for  I  think  I  hear  the  sonata  end- 
ing.     Will  30U  cotne  with  me?"   she  said  to  Marion. 

"  If  my  audience  is  ended,"  replied  Marion,  with  a 
pretty  smile,  to  Mr.  Singleton. 

"  Your  audience  is  not  ended,  if  you  do  not  mind 
remaining  with  an  old  man  for  a  little  while,"  he 
answered.  ''Anna  can  return  or  send  for  you  when 
she  wants  3'^ou  to  entertain  her  guests  again.  Mean- 
while I  want  you  to  entertain  me." 

"  Before  I  go,  then,  I  will  introduce  General  Butler, 
and  charge  him  to  bring  you  back  presently,"  said 
Mrs.  Singleton,  after  which  she  disappeared. 

General  Butler,  no  less  pleased  than  his  friend  with 
the  charm  of  a  beautiful  face,  sat  down  again,  and 
said  to  Mai'ion  :  "  Your  name  is  very  familiar  to  me, 
Miss  Lynde.  I  wonder  if  you  are  not  a  daughter  of 
Herbert  Lynde,  who  was  killed  at  Seven  Pines  .^  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Marion,  "  I  am  liis  daughter,  and 
always  glad  to  meet  his  old  friends.  You  knew  him, 
then.?" 

"  Oh!  very  well.  He  was  in  my  brigade,  and  one 
of  the  bravest  men  I  ever  saw.  I  thought  there  was 
something  familiar  to  me  in  your  face  as  well  as  in  your 
name.     You  are  very  like  him." 

"  Herbert  Lynde!  "  repeated  Mr.  Singleton.  "  If 
that  was  your  father's  name,  my  niece  was  right  in 
thinking  that  there  might  be  some  relationship  between 


FAIEY    GOLD.  69 

us.  The  Singletons  and  those  Lyndes  Lave  inter- 
married more  than  once.  I  hope  that  3'ou  do  not 
object  to  acknowledging  a  distant  link  of  cousinship 
with  us?  " 

"So  far  from  objecting,  I  am  delighted  to  hear  of 
it,"  answered  Marion.  "  Who  would  not  be  delighted 
to  find  such  cousins  }  " 

There  was  something  a  little  sad  as  well  as  ironic  in 
the  smile  with  which  Mr.  Singleton  heard  these  words, 
as  he  extended  his  hand  and  laid  it  on  hers. 

"That  sounds  very  cordial  and  sincere,"  he  said. 
"  I  hope  you  may  never  find  reason  to  qualify  j'our 
delight.  I  confess  I  am  glad  to  find  that  we  are  not 
altogether  strangers.  It  gives  me  a  faint,  shadowy 
claim  on  your  kind  offices.  I  am  not  a  man  whom 
many  things  please.  But  you  have  pleased  me,  and  I 
shall  like  to  see  yon  again." 

"  I  shall  like  to  come,"  answered  Marion,  "  for  my 
own  pleasure  as  well  as  for  yours.  I  am  not  easily 
pleased  either,"  she  added,  with  a  smile;  "so  you 
must  draw  the  inference." 

"  It  is  one  I  should  like  to  be  able  to  draw  also," 
observed  General  Butler.  "  This  is  really  too  narrow. 
I  cannot  claim  relationship,  Miss  L)mde;  but  remem- 
ber I  am  an  old  friend  of  your  family." 

"  Of  mine,  too,  then,"  said  Marion,  holding  out  her 
hand  to  him.  As  he  bent  over  it  with  a  flattered  air. 
she  had  a  triumphant  sense  that  it  was  a  conclusive 
test  of  her  power  to  be  able  to  charm  and  influence 
men  of  the  world  and  of  mature  experience  like  these. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

WELL,  Marion,"  said  Helen,  "now  tliat  ,you 
have  seen  Mr.  Singleton,  what  do  you  think 
of  him?" 

The}^  were  walking  home  through  the  soft,  moonlit 
summer  night  when  this  question  was  a^ked ;  and 
Marion  answered,  lightly:  "I  find  him  charming. 
He  is  refined,  fastidious,  has  seen  a  great  deal  of  the 
world,   and  is  altogetlier  a  man  after  my  own  taste." 

"Then,"  said  Frank  Morley,  who  was  walking  by 
her  side,  "a  man  after  your  own  taste  must  be  a 
heartless  valetudinarian  ;  for  that  is  what  Mr.  Single- 
ton has  the  credit  of  being." 

"As  it  chances."  said  INIarion,  "  neither  his  heart- 
lessness  nor  his  valetudinarianism  concerns  me  in  the 
least —  granting  that  they  exist.  But  I  confess  to  a 
doubt  on  that  point.  Are  you  very  intimately  ac- 
quainted with  him,  Mr.  Morley?" 

Had  the  moonlight  been  brighter,  it  might  have  been 
perceived  that  young  Morley  flushed  at  the  tone  of  the 
question.  "  No,"  he  answered  ;  "  I  have  no  acquaint- 
ance witli  him  at  all.  But  that  is  the  opinion  of  every 
one." 

"  The  opinion  of  '  ever3^one  '    has  very  little  weight 
with  me,"  said  Marion.      "  I  prefer  my  own." 
(70) 


FAIRY    GOLD.  71 

"You  are  quite  right  to  distrust  au  uncharitable 
opinion,  my  dear  INIarion,"  interposed  Mrs.  Dalton's 
quiet  voice.  "  The  fact  of  its  being  general  is  no 
reason  for  crediting  it.  People  are  alvrays  quicker 
to  believe  evil  than  good,  I  am  sorry  to  sa}-. " 

"I  suppose  that  is  meant  for  me,"  said  Frank 
Moi-ley.  "But  really  I  am  not  inclined,  on  general 
principles,  to  believe  evil  sooner  than  good.  I  do 
think,  however,  that  some  weight  is  to  be  given  to  a 
consensus  of  public  opinion." 

"What  a  large  word!"  cried  Helen,  laughing, 
while  Rathborne  observed,  with  his  familiar  sneer:  — 

"  A  word  which  represents  a  large  fact  also,  but  a 
fact  that  must  be  based  on  knowledge  in  order  to  have 
any  value.  Now,  the  public  opinion  of  Scarborough 
has  no  knowledge  at  all  of  Mr.  Singleton.  Therefore 
its  decision  about  him  has  no  value." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Marion  ;  "  for  I  do  not 
believe  that  he  is  either  heartless  or  a  valetudinarian." 

"I  suppose  he  made  himself  agreeable  to  you," 
said  young  Morley. 

"Very  agreeable,"  she  answered,  coolly.  "  He  in- 
formed me  that  we  are  related,  and  he  asked  me  to 
come  and  sing  for  him  alone." 

"  I  congratulate  you  on  a  triumph,  then,"  said 
Rathborne;  "for  he  is  a  most  critical  person,  who 
likes  few  things  and  tolerates  few  people." 

"  So  I  judged,"  she  answered;  "  and  I  felt  flattered 
accordingl3\" 

"How  frightened  I  should  have  been  of  him!" 
exclaimed  Helen.  "  I  am  very  glad  that  my  singing 
was  not  worthy  of  his  notice!  " 

There  was  a  general  laugh  at  this,  as  they  paused  at 


72  FAIBY   GOLD. 

Mrs.  D.ilton's  gate,  where  good-nights  were  ex- 
changed. "  I  will  see  you  to  the  house,"  said  Rath- 
borne,  when  his  aunt  declared  that  in  tlie  soft,  bright 
moonlight  there  was  no  need  for  any  one  to  accom- 
pany them  farther;  he  opened  the  gate  and  went  in, 
while  the  Morleys  walked  off. 

"  Frank,"  said  Miss  Morley,  "  what  is  the  reason 
that  you  so  often  speak  to  Miss  Lynde  in  a  manner 
that  sounds  disagreeable  and  sarcastic .?  I  don't  think 
it  is  well-bred,  and  I  never  knew  you  guilty  of  speak- 
ing so  to  any  one  before." 

"  I  never  had  such  cause  before,"  answered  Frank. 
"It  is  the  tone  Miss  Lynde  habitually  employs  to  me. 
You  will  say,  perhaps,  that  is  no  excuse,  but  at  least 
you  will  admit  that  it  is  a  provocation." 

"  A  provocation  you  ought  to  resist,"  said  the  young 
lady.  ''I  am  really  ashamed  of  you?  What  is  the 
reason  that  you  positively  seem  to  dislike  each  other?  " 

"  Miss  Lynde  appears  to  think  that  I  am  a  person 
who  needs  to  be  kept  in  his  place  by  severe  snubbing," 
replied  the  young  man  ;  "  and  I  think  that  she  is  the 
most  vain  and  conceited  girl  I  ever  encountered.  I 
don't  trust  her  an  inch ;  and  if  there  is  not  something 
very  like  a  flirtation  going  on  between  Rathborne  and 
herself,  I'm  mistaken." 

"How  can  you  say  such  a  thing!  Why,  Paul 
Rathborne  is  as  good  as  engaged  to  Helen ;  and,  of 
course,  her  cousin  knows  it." 

"That's  neither  here  nor  there.  Whatever  she 
knows  or  doesn't  know,  you  have  only  to  see  them 
together  to  observe  how  well  they  understand  each 
other.  As  for  Rathborne,  no  treachery  would  sur- 
prise me  in  him." 


FAIRY   GOLD.  73 

"Frank,  I  am  really  shocked  at  you!  "  cried  his 
sister.  "  You  have  let  prejudice  run  away  with  your 
judgment.  You  dislike  Paul  Rathborne  until  you  are 
ready  to  suspect  him  of  anything.  Of  course  he 
admires  Miss  Lynde  —  everyone  does  except  your- 
self,—  but  that  is  no  reason  for  believing  that  be 
would  be  treacherous  to  Helen.  And  Miss  Lynde' s 
manner  is  the  same  to  him  as  to  everyone,  so  far  as 
I  have  observed." 

"  As  far  as  you  have  observed  may  not  be  very 
far,"  said  Frank,  with  brotherly  candor.  "  Wait  and 
see  —  that  is  all." 

"I  think  you  ought  to  wait  and  see  before  you 
make  such  charges,"  returned  Miss  Morley.  "  You 
always  disHked  Paul  Rathborne,  and  now  you  dislike 
Miss  Lynde,  so  you  suspect  them  both  of  very 
unworthy  conduct.  It  shows  how  we  ought  to  guard 
against  disliking  people,  since  to  do  so  leads  at  last 
to  unjust  judgments." 

"  Very  fine  moralizing,"  remarked  the  young  man  ; 
"but  not  at  all  applicable  in  this  case,  since  I  don't 
suspect  them  because  I  dislike  them,  but  I  dislike 
them  because  I  suspect  them.  There's  all  the  differ- 
ence in  the  world  in  that." 

"  It  amounts  to  the  same  thing  with  you,  I  fancy," 
answered  his  skeptical  sister.  "  But  I  hope  that  at 
least  you  will  keep  your  suspicions  to  yourself.  If 
you  breathed  them  to  Helen  — " 

"Do  3'ou  think  I  would!"  he  said,  indignantly. 
"What  good  could  it  do?  Helen  will  believe  noth- 
ing against  any  one  she  loves.  And  she  does  love 
Rathborne  —  confound  him  !  " 

"Frank,  you  are  really  growing  so  uncharitable  that 


74  FAIRY   GOLD. 

it  distresses  me  to  hear  you  talk,"  said  his  sister, 
solemnly. 

Frank  only  responded  by  a  laugh  compounded  of 
scorn  and  vexed  amusement ;  but  in  his  heart  he  knew 
that  it  was  true  —  that  he  was  growing  uncharitable, 
and  that  lie  disliked  Ratliborne  so  much  that  he  was 
ready  to  believe  aii}'  ill  of  him.  It  was  this  dislike 
which  had  sharpened  his  eyes  to  perceive  what  that 
astute  gentleman  thought  he  was  concealing  from  every 
one  —  the  fact  of  the  strong  attraction  which  Marion 
had  for  him ;  and  whoever  else  that  fact  might  sur- 
prise, it  did  not  surprise  young  Morley  in  the  least. 
He  had  never  believed  in  the  disinterestedness  of 
Rathborne's  affection  for  Helen,  and  it  had  enraged 
him  to  perceive  the  trust  with  which  his  cousin  gave 
her  heart  to  a  man  unworthy  of  it.  These  sentiments 
had  prepared  him  to  observe  any  failure  in  the  con- 
duct of  that  man,  and  there  had  been  a  gratified  sense 
of  the  justification  of  his  own  judgment  when  he  per- 
ceived what  was  so  far  hidden  from  everyone  else 
except  Rathborne  hnnself  and  —  Mariou. 

For  Marion  was  fully  alive  to  the  admiration  with 
which  Rathborne  regarded  her  ;  but  it  is  onl}^  justice 
to  say  thiit  no  thought  of  treachery  to  Helen  was  ever 
in  her  mind.  Many  and  great  as  her  faults  might  be, 
they  were  not  (f  a  mean  order.  By  towering  ambi- 
tion and  arrogant  pride,  she  might  fall  into  grievous 
error,  bu^.  hardly  into  baseness  —  at  least  not  by  pre- 
meditation. But  it  is  hard  to  say  at  exactly  what 
milestone  we  will  stop  on  the  road  of  seeking  the  gi'at- 
ification  and  interest  of  self.  It  pleased  her  to  see 
that  Rathborne  regarded  hfr  in  a  veiy  different  man- 
ner from  that  in  which  he  regarded  any  other  woman 


FAIRY    GOLD.  75 

with  whom  she  saw  him  associating ;  the  unconscious 
homage  of  his  air  when  he  approached  lior,  of  his  tone 
when  he  addressed  her,  the  choice  of  his  subjects  when 
he  talked  to  her  alone,  were  all  like  incense  to  her 
vanity  ;  and  it  was  this  incense  which  she  liked,  r:ither 
than  the  ixiau.  Concerning  the  latter,  she  had  not 
changed  her  first  opinion,  which  did  not  differ  very 
widely  from  that  of  Mr.  Frank  Morley. 

The  day  after  Mrs.  Singleton's  evening,  Helen  said 
to  her  cousin:  "  I  wish  so  much,  Marion,  that  you 
would  sometimes  sing  in  our  choir!  Miss  Grady,  our 
organist,  said  to  me  last  night  thtit  she  would  be  so 
glad  if  you  would,  and  I  promised  to  nsk  3'ou." 

'*  Wh^',  certainly,"  replied  Maiion,  with  ready 
assent;  "  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  do  so  whenever  you 
like.  Catholic  music  is  so  beautiful  that  it  is  a  pleas- 
ure to  sing  it;  but  I  don'tknow  much  of  it." 

"You  know  that  lovely  '■Ave  Miria  '  }  ou  used  to 
sins:  at  the  convent." 

•'  Gounod's.'   Oh,y<-s!    But  when  can  I  sing  that?  " 

"At  the  Offertory  in  the  Mass.  I  know  Miss 
Grady  will  be  delighted,  for  she  has  no  really  good 
voice.     Fancy,  mine  is  her  best!  " 

"How  moilest  you  are!"  said  ]\Iarion,  smiling. 
"Very  well,  then,  I  will  sing  the  '  Ave  Maria  '  next 
Sunday  witli  a  great  deal  of  pleasure,  if  your  organist 
likes,  and  your  priest  does  not  ol^ject  to  a  Prote-^itant 
voice." 

"He  is  not  likely  to  do  that;  but  I  thought  you 
always  declared  that  3'ou  are  not  a  Protestant." 

"I  suppose  one  must  bo  classt  d  as  a  Protestant, 
according  to  the  strict  sense  of  tlie  term,  when  one  is 
not  a  Catholic  —  and  that  I  am  not." 


76  FAIRY   GOLD. 

*'  But  you  may  be  some  day." 

"  Nothing  is  more  unlikel3\  Your  religion  is  too 
exacting:  it  puts  one's  whole  life  in  bondage.  Now, 
I  want  to  be  free." 

"Not  free  to  do  wrong,  Marion!  And  the  only 
bondage  which  the  Catholic  Church  lays  upon  people 
is  to  forbid  their  doing  what  is  wrong." 

"  I  must  be  free  to  judge  for  myself  what  is 
wrong,"  returned  Marion,  with  a  haughty  gesture  of 
her  head.  "  But  we  had  better  not  talk  of  this,  Helen. 
We  do  not  think  alike,  and  I  do  not  wish  to  say 
anything  disagreeable  to  you." 

"  Nor  I  to  you,"  said  Helen;  "  and  indeed  I  have 
no  talent  for  argument.  One  needs  Claire  for  that. 
Dear  Claire  !    how  I  wish  she  were  here !  " 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Marion  ;  "  but  not  for  purposes  of 
argument,  I  confess." 

Glad  to  do  something  to  please  her  aunt  and  cousin, 
Marion  went  willingly  the  next  Sunday  to  the  Catholic 
church;  and,  having  already  seen  the  organist  —  a 
pleasant  young  music  teacher  —  accompanied  Helen 
into  the  choir-loft.  Here,  sitting  quietly  in  a  corner 
during  the  first  part  of  the  Mass,  she  had  time 
to  contrast  the  scene  before  her  with  that  which  she 
had  witnessed  during  the  other  Sundays  of  her  stay 
in  Scarborough.  The  first  thing  which  struck  her  was 
the  poverty  of  the  small  building,  as  compai-ed  with 
the  luxury  and  beauty  of  the  Episcopal  place  of  wor- 
ship. Here  were  no  finely-carved  and  polished  woods; 
but  plain,  plastered  walls,  relieved  from  bareness  only 
by  the  pictures  which  told  in  simple  black  and  white 
the  woful  story  of  the  Cross.  The  sound  of  moving 
feet   and   scraping    benches    on    the  uncovered   floor 


FAIEY    GOLD.  77 

jarred  ou  her  nerves  after  tlie  subdued  quiet,  which 
was  the  result  of  carpeted  aisles  and  pews  ;  while  the 
appearance  of  the  congregation  spoke  plainly  of 
humble,  hard-working  lives.  No  suggestion  of  social 
distinction  and  elegance  was  here.  But  in  the  sanct- 
uary there  was  something  of  beauty  to  pletise  even 
her  tnesthctic  eje. 

The  small  nltar  was  beautifully  dressed  with  freshly- 
cut  flowers,  draped  with  spotless  linen  and  fine  lace, 
and  briUiant  with  light  of  wax  tapers.  Evidently 
Helen's  careful  hand  and  convent-bred  taste  had  been 
there,  even  as  Helen's  pure,  sweet,  young  voice  was 
even  now  sinking  the  angelic  words  of  the  "  Gloria.'' 
The  priest,  who  was  a  pale  and  rather  insignificant- 
looking  man,  certainly  lacked  the  refined  and  scholarly 
air  of  the  handsome  young  clergyman  with  whom 
Marion  instinctively  compared  him ;  but  there  was  an 
assured  dignity  in  his  air  and  gestures,  as  he  stood 
at  the  altar,  which  she  was  too  keen  an  observer  not 
to  perceive,  and  remember  that  the  other  had  lacked. 

In  the  midst  of  these  mingled  thoughts  and  impres- 
sions —  thoughts  and  impressions  wherein  devotion  had 
no  place  —  she  was  suddenly  summoned  to  sing.  vShe 
took  her  place  with  the  self-possession  which  never 
failed  her,  and  began  that  beautiful  strain  to  which 
Gounod  has  set  the  sacred  words  of  the  ^'Ave  Maria." 
Tht  re  were  not  many  musically  trained  ears  or  criti- 
cally trained  tastes  among  the  congregation  below,  but 
even  they  turned  instinctively  to  see  what  voice  was 
rising  with  such  divine  melody  toward  heaven.  Over 
and  over  aof.^in  Marion  had  sung  these  words  without 
thinking  of  their  meaning,  but  she  had  never  before 
sung  them  in  the  Mass  i  and   now  something  in  the 


78  FAIEY    GOLD. 

hush  of  the  stillness  around  her,  in  the  reverence  of 
the  silent  people,  in  the  solemn,  stately  movements  of 
the  priest  and  the  uplifting  of  the  chalice,  seemed  to 
fill  her  witli  a  consciousness  that  she,  too,  was  uttering 
a  prayer  —  a  prayer  of  such  ancient  and  holy  origin 
that  careless  hps  should  fear  to  speak  it. 

''Sancta  Maria,  Mater  Dei!  "  —  Never  before  had  the 
wonder,  the  majesty,  the  awf ulness  of  the  Name  struck 
her  as  it  struck  her  now,  when  she  was,  as  it  were,  the 
mouthpiece  for  all  the  believing  hearts  that  so  called 
the  Blessed  Maid  of  Israel.  ' '  Ora  pro  nobis  pecmtori- 
bus,  nunc  et  in  hora  mortis  nostrce."  Her  voice  sank 
over  the  last  words  with  a  strange  sense  of  their  mean- 
ino-.  The  hour  of  our  death !  It  would  come  to  her, 
too,  that  hour  —  a  sudden,  intense  realization  of  the 
fact  seemed  to  run  through  her  veins  like  ice,—  and 
when  it  came,  would  it  not  be  well  to  have  appealed  in 
earnest  to  Her  who  stood  by  the  Cross,  and  was  and 
is  eternally  the  Mother  of  God? 

Such  a  thought,  such  a  question  was  new  to  this 
proud  and  worldly  spirit.  Why  it  came  to  her  at  this 
moment  is  one  of  the  miracles  of  God's  grace.  It  was 
not  destined  to  make  any  lasting  impression  ;  but  for 
the  time  it  was  strong  enough  to  cause  her,  when  the 
hymn  was  ended,  to  go  and  kneel  down  in  the  place 
she  had  left ;  while  from  her  heart  rose  the  appeal 
which  only  her  lips  had  uttered  a  moment  before, 
♦'  Holy  Mary,  Mother  of  God,  pray  for  me  now  and  at 
the  hour  of  my  death." 

It  gratified  Helen  to  observe  that  Marion  knelt 
•with  appjvrent  devoutness  during  the  solemn  portion 
of  the  Mass ;  but  when  they  came  out  of  church,  and 
she  turned  with  a  smile  to  congratulate  her  on   her 


FAIin'    GOLD.  '9^' 

singing,  she  was  struck  by  the  paleness  and  gravity 
of  the  beautiful  face.  "  What  is  the  matter?"  she 
asked,  quickly.     "  Has  anything  displeased  you?  " 

"Displeased  me!"  said  Marion,  with  a  start  of 
surprise.      "  No  ;  why  should  you  think  so?  " 

"  You  look  so  grave." 

"Do  1?  Perhaps  I  am  displeased  with  myself, 
then.  I  (lid  not  know  before  that  I  was  impressiona- 
ble, and  I  find  that  I  am.  That  vexes  me.  I  detest 
impressionable  people ;  I  detest  above  all  to  feel  that 
I  myself  am  at  the  mercy  of  outward  influences." 

Helen  looked  all  the  wonder  that  she  felt.  "  I 
don't  understand  what  you  mean."  she  said.  "  How 
have  you  fuund  out  that  you  are  impressionable  —  I 
mean  particularly  so?  " 

Marion  smiled  slightly.  "  I  am  afraid  you  would 
not  understand  if  I  told  you,"  she  replied.  "Or  you 
would  misunderstand,  which  is  worse.  But  don't  ask 
me  to  go  to  your  church  again,  Helen.  Something 
there  —  something  about  the  services  —  affects  me  in 
a  way  I  don't  like.  Nothing  I  should  dislike  so  much 
as  to  become  a  mere  emotional,  susceptible  creature  ; 
and  I  feel  there  as  if  I  might." 

"  But,  Marion,"  exclaimed  Helen,  half-shocked, 
half-eager,  "  surely  our  feelings  are  given,  like  every- 
thing else,  to  lead  us  to  God!  And,  O  Marion!  how 
can  you  turn  away  from  what  may  be  the  grace  of 
God?  For  remember,  God  Himself  was  (^n  the  altar 
to-day!  " 

She  uttered  the  last  sentence  in  tones  of  reverent 
awe  ;  but  Marion  frowned  impatiently. 

"  It  was  because  I  knew  you  would  not  understand 
that  I  did  not  want  to  speak,"   she  said.     "  What  I 


80  FAIRY    GOLD. 

am  talking  of  is  a  mere  matter  of  susceptibility  to 
outward  influences.  It  is  disagreeable  to  me,  and  I 
do  not  wish  to  subject  myself  to  it  —  that  is  all.  I 
am  never  troubled  in  that  way  at  the  Episcopal  ser- 
vices," she  added,  more  lightly.  "  I  shall  go  there 
in  future." 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

IT  was  uot  very  long  before  Marion's  promise  to 
Mr.  Siugletou  was  recalled  to  her  mind  —  if, 
indeed,  that  could  be  said  to  be  recalled  which 
had  never  been  foigotten.  For  she  bad  uot  exagger- 
ated in  sa^'ing  that  this  old  man,  with  his  air  of  the 
world,  with  his  keen,  critical  glance,  and  the  mingled 
imperativeness  and  courtliness  of  his  manner,  was 
after  her  own  taste.  His  evident  admiration  and 
appreciation  of  herself  no  doubt  led  greatly  to  this 
result ;  for  had  she  l)een  treated  as  he  was  in  the 
habit  of  treating  people  whom  he  did  not  like,  there 
could  hardly  have  been  much  liking  on  her  side.  But 
since  his  approval  of  her  was  very  manifest,  her 
approval  of  him  was  not  less  so;  and  was,  moreover, 
sharpened  by  the  restless  ambition  which  made  her 
look  eagerl}'  for  any  opening  b}^  which  she  might  gain 
her  desired  ends. 

She  was  glad,  therefore,  to  receive  one  morning  a 
note  from  Mrs.  Simpleton,  be2;2:ing  to  know  if  that 
day  would  suit  her  for  the  fulfillment  of  her  promise 
to  sing  for  Mr.  Singleton  alone.  "  I  should  have 
asked  yon  to  name  the  da}',"  the  note  went  on,  "  but 
for  the  fact  that  there  are  only  certain  days  on  which 
m}'  uncle  feels  equal  to  the  exertion   of  seeing  any 

6  (81) 


82  FA  my    GOLD. 

one ;  and,  of  course,  he  wishes  to  see  as  well  as  to 
hear  you.  If  you  have  no  other  engagement  for  this 
afternoon,  will  you,  then,  gratify  him  by  coming  at 
five  o'clock?  And  I  hope  to  keep  you  to  spend  the 
evening  with  me." 

Had  any  engagement  interfered  with  the  proposed 
appointment,  there  is  no  doubt  that  Marion  would 
have  broken  it  like  a  thread ;  but  she  was,  happil}^, 
free  from  such  a  necessity,  and  had  only  to  ttll  Mrs. 
Singleton  that  she  would  accept  her  invitation  for  the 
afternoon  with  pleasure.  So,  at  the  time  appointed, 
her  aunt's  carriage  dropped  her  at  the  door  of  the 
house  which  the  Singletons  had  taken  for  the  season. 
It  was  by  far  the  handsomest  house  in  Scarborough  — 
wide,  spacious,  stately,  with  nobly  proportioned  rooms, 
and  balls  that  spoke  eloquently  of  the  wealth  that  had 
planned  them.  It  was  a  wealth  that  had  vanished  now, 
as  the  house  had  passed  out  of  the  possession  of  those 
who  built  it ;  but  the  fine  old  place  served  admirably 
as  a  settins  for  the  Singleton  establishment,  which  was 
formed  oa  a  very  lavish  scale. 

When  Marion  was  shown  into  the  drawing-room,  she 
found  Mr.  Singleton  there,  estabUshed  in  a  deep  easy- 
chair  near  the  piano,  with  an  open  newspaper  before 
him.  He  laid  it  on  his  knee  when  she  entered,  and 
held  out  his  hand. 

"  You  will  excuse  my  keeping  my  seat,"  he  said,  as 
she  came  toward  him.  "  I  rise  with  great  difficulty, 
owing  to  obstinate  sciatica,  and  never  without  assist- 
ance. But  you  must  believe  that  I  appreciate  your 
kindness  incoming." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  come,"  she  said,  with  cordial 
sincerity.     ' '  I  told  you  that  it  would  be  a  pleasure  to 


FAIRY   GOLD.  83 

me,  I  like  to  sing,  especially  to  one  who  knows  what 
good  singing  is ;  and  whose  praise,  therefore,  has 
value." 

He  smiled,  evidently  well  pleased.  "  And  how  do 
you  know,"  he  said,  "  that  my  praise  has  that  value?  " 

"  One  can  tell  such  things  very  quickly,"  she  replied, 
"  I  think  I  should  have  known  that  you  possessed 
musical  culture  even  if  I  had  not  heard  so." 

"  I  have  a  good  deal  of  musical  knowledge,  at  least," 
he  said.  "  In  my  youth  1  lived  much  abroad,  and  I 
have  heard  all  the  great  singers  of  the  world.  It  has 
been  a  passion  with  me,  and  I  have  missed  nothing 
else  so  much  during  these  later  years  of  invalidism. 
You  can  judge,  therefore,  whether  or  not  it  is  a  pleas- 
ure to  hear  such  a  voice  as  3'ours." 

"I  know  that  my  voice  is  good,"  said  Marion; 
"  but  I  also  know  how  much  it  lacks  cultivation.  I 
fear  that  must  jar  on  you,  since  you  have  heard  so 
many  great  singers." 

"  No,  it  does  not  jar  on  me,  because  you  have  no 
bad  tricks.  You  sing  simply  and  naturally,  with 
wonderful  sweetness  and  power.  Sing  now,  and 
afterward  I  will  take  the  liberty  of  asking  you  some 
questions  about  yourself." 

Marion  went  to  the  piano,  and,  animated  by  the 
last  words,  sang  as  well  as  she  could  possibly  have 
sung  for  a  much  larger  audience.  In  the  lofty,  wide 
room  she  let  out  the  full  power  of  her  splendid  voice 
with  an  ease,  a  total  absence  of  effort,  which  delighted 
her  listener.  Lying  back  in  his  deep  chair  while  song 
followed  song,  and  marking  how  clear  and  true  every 
note  rang,  his  interest  in  the  singer  grew ;  and  he 
begran  to  rouse  a  little  from  the  state    of   indifferent 


84  FAIBY    GOLD. 

egoism  which  was  normal  with  him,  to  consider  what 
would  be  the  future  of  this  girl,  whom  nature  had  so 
richly  endowed.  Perhaps  curiosity  had  a  part  in  the 
interest ;  at  least  when  Marion  had  sung  for  some 
time,  he  said  suddenly  :  — 

"  That  is  enough  for  the  present.  I  must  not  be 
unreasonable,  and  I  must  not  let  you  srain  your 
voice.    Will  you  come  now  and  talk  to  me  for  a  while?" 

"  WiUingly,"  she  answered,  rising  from  the  instru- 
ment with  a  smile.  "  But  you  must  remember  that  it 
does  not  follow  that  because  I  can  entertain  you  by 
singing  I  can  also  entertain  you  by  talking." 

"  I  think  it  will  follow,"  he  said.  "  You  talk,  if 
not  as  well  as  you  sing  —  for  that  would  be  very  ex- 
traordinary—  at  least  well  enough  to  make  me  desire 
to  listen  to  you.  And  in  order  to  make  you  appre- 
ciate that,  I  must  tell  you  that  the  talking  of  most 
people  bores  me  intolerably," 

"  Are  there  any  signs  by  which  one  can  tell  when 
one  begins  to  bore  you?  "  asked  Marion,  sitting  down 
on  alow  chair  in  front  of  him.  "  Because  I  should 
like  to  cease  as  soon  as  that  point  is  reached." 

He  smiled,  all  the  lines  of  his  face  relaxing  as  he 
looked  at  her.  In  fact,  he  found  the  charm  of  her 
beauty  almost  as  great  as  that  of  her  voice.  Had  it 
been  an  unintellectual  beauty,  he  would  have  cared 
nothino-  for  it:  but  the  flash  of  that  indescribable 
quality  which  the  French  call  espnY,  the  quickness  and 
readiness  of  her  speech,  the  grace  of  her  inanner, — 
all  pleased  and  interested  the  man,  who  was  not  easily 
pleased  or  interested. 

"  I  do  not  believe  there  is  any  danger  of  your  ever 
reaching  that  point,"  he  said.     "  And  I  think  you  are 


FAIRY   GOLD.  85 

sure  of  it  yourself.  You  have  no  fear  of  boring  any 
one;  for  you  know  the  thing  is  impossible." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  she  answered.  "  But  I  have 
never  observed  that  the  people  who  bore  one  are  at 
all  afraid  of  doing  it.  So,  lack  of  fear  would  not 
prove  exemption  from  the  possibility.  But  I  flatter 
myself  that  I  have  penetration  enough  to  detect  the 
first  sign,  and  I  am  certain  that  I  would  not  need  to 
detect  the  second." 

"  Any  one  who  saw  you  would  be  certain  of  that," 
he  said,  regarding  her  intentl}''.  "As  it  chances, 
however,  it  ma}^  he  I  who  will  prove  the  bore ;  for  I 
am  going  to  claim  one  of  the  privileges  of  an  old  man,, 
and  ask  you  some  questions  about  yourself ;  or,  tO' 
spare  me  the  tronl)le  of  asking  the  question,  I  should 
like  for  you  to  tell  me  something  about  your  life,  if 
you  have  no  objection." 

"Not  the  slightest,"  replied  Maj-ion;  "indeed 
your  interest  flatters  me.  But  I  am  sorry  to  say  that 
there  is  very  little  to  tell.  You  see,  my  life  is  only 
beginning." 

"  True.     You  have  just  left  school,  I  believe?  " 

"  Only  a  few  weeks  ago.  I  came  then  with  my  cousin 
from  the  convent,  where  I  had  spent  two  years." 

"  You  are  not  a  Roman  Catholic,  I  hope?  " 

"Oh!  no,  certainly  not."  It  occurred  to  her,  as 
she  spoke,  that  if  he  should  ask  what  she  was,  she 
would  not  be  prepared  with  so  ready  an  answer.  But 
his  interest  was  apparently  satisfied  with  ascertaining 
what  she  was  not,  and  he  went  on  to  another  ques- 
tion :  — 

"  Where  is  your  home?  " 

"  Ah!  that  is  difficult  to  answer,"  she  said.     "  Be- 


86  FAIEY    GOLD. 

fore  going  to  the  convent,  I  lived  with  my  uncle,  but 
I  could  hardly  call  that  home  ;  and,  since  I  have  no 
desire  to  return  to  his  house,  I  must  reply  with  strict 
correctness  that  I  have  no  home." 

"  That  is  a  sad  statement  for  one  so  j^oung.  Is  not 
your  uncle  your  guardian  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  that  he  is ;  but,  3'ou  see,  I  have  no  fort- 
une to  look  after  —  somehow  it  has  all  vanished 
away, —  and,  personally,  I  am  not  very  much  in  need 
of  a  guardian." 

"  Permit  me  to  differ  with  you  there,"  said  Mr. 
Singleton,  gravely.  "  Personally,  I  think  that  you  are 
very  much  in  need  of  a  guardian.  And  by  that  I  do 
not  mean  any  reflection  on  your  power  of  conducting 
yourself —  which  I  have  no  doubt  is  \evy  sufficient, — 
but  I  mean  that  no  young  and  beautiful  woman  of 
good  social  rank  should  be  without  the  protection  of 
such  guardianship." 

"  I  presume  certainly  that  ray  uncle  considers 
himself  my  guardian,  and  it  is  likely  tiiat  he  has  legal 
power  to  interfere  with  my  actions,"  said  Marion. 
"  But  I  think  he  does  not  feel  interest  enough  to  inter- 
fere—  unless  he  thought  me  likely  to  bring  discredit 
on  the  family.  And  I  believe  he  knows  me  well  enough 
not  to  fear  that." 

Mr,  Singleton  smiled  at  the  unconscious  pride  of  her 
tone,  and  the  gesture  with  which  she  lifted  her  head. 
"  One  need  not  know  3'ou  very  well  in  order  to  be  sure 
of  that,"  he  said.  "  But,  since  these  are  your  cir- 
cumstances, allow  me,  as  your  kinsman,  to  ask  another 
question.     What  are  your  plans  for  the  future.?  " 

She  opened  her  hands  with  a  gesture  signifyino- 
emptiness,     and     slightly    shrugged    her    shoulders. 


FAIEY   GOLD.  87 

"  Frankly,  I  have  none,"  she  answered.  "  I  am  wait- 
ino-  on  fate.  Don't  think  that  I  mind  it,"  she  added, 
quickly,  catching  an  expression  on  his  face.  "It  is 
interesting  —  it  is  hke  waiting  for  a  play  to  begin.  If 
I  had  my  choice,  I  should  prefer  the  uncertainties  of 
my  life  to  a  life  already  mapped  and  arranged  like  that 
of  m}^  cousin,  Helen  Morley.  Why  shouM  uncer- 
tainty of  the  future  daunt  one  who  has  a  consciousness 
of  some  powers,  and  has  no  fear  at  all?  I  am  only 
anxious  for  the  pla}'  to  begin,  that  is  all." 

"  Pour  child  !  "  said. her  listener.  The  words  were 
utteri  d  involuntarily,  and  startled  him  a  little  ;  for  he 
was  not  easily  moved  to  sympathy  or  compassion. 
But  the  very  dauntlessness  of  this  courage,  the  very 
rashness  of  this  self-confidence,  were  sad  to  the  man 
who  knew  so  well  the  pitfalls  of  life,  the  dangers 
which  no  powers  could  avert,  no  bravery  overcome. 
If  Marion  had  subtly  calculated  how  best  to  rouse  his 
interest,  and  touch  whatever  heart  remained  to  him  in 
the  midst  of  the  gradual  withering  up  of  the  springs 
of  feeling,  she  could  not  have  succeeded  better,  nor 
probably  half  so  well.  Any  appeal  to  his  sympathy, 
any  tearful  eyes  or  supplicating  tones,  he  would  have 
resisted ;  but  this  proud  daring  of  fate,  this  quick 
rejection  of  pity,  moved  him  more  than,  beforehand, 
he  would  have  imagined  possible.  When  conscious  of 
the  words  which  had  escaped  him,  he  went  on:  — 

"  Pardon  me,  but  I  have  known  so  long  the  life  you 
are  just  beginning  —  indeed  I  am  about  to  leave  the 
stage  as  you  make  your  debut., —  that  I  fear  the 
play  may  not  prove  all  that  you  fanc3\  It  is  apt  to 
take  sudden  turns  which  no  skill  can  foresee,  and 
which  force  one,  whether  one  will  or  not,  into  very 


88  FAIRY   GOLD. 

unpleasant  situations.  Bat  I  have  no  inclination  to 
act  the  part  of  a  prophet  of  ill,  so  I  hope  all  this  may- 
be reversed  for  you ;  certainly  so  much  courage  and 
so  much  beauty  ought  to  propitiate  Fate.  And,  mean- 
while, if  there  is  anything  I  can  do  to  serve  you, 
remember  that  I  am  your  kinsman,  and  let  me  know." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Marion,  graciously.  "But 
while  waiting  for  the  play  to  begin,  I  have  nothing  to 
desire.  My  friends  are  very  kind.  And  now  I  fear 
that  1  may  have  reached  that  point  of  which  we  spoke 
earlier  —  the  point  of  possible  boredom.  At  least  I 
know  that  I  have  talked  too  much  of  myself." 

"  Not  at  all,"  he  replied,  quickly.  "  You  have  only 
answered  my  questions  ;  and  I  have  been,  I  fear,  too 
inquisitive.  But  ray  interest  in  you  must  plead  my 
excuse.  I  suppose  I  have  been  more  ready  to  gratify 
it  because  it  is  not  easily  roused  —  at  least  not  to  the 
degree  in  which  you  have  roused  it." 

"  That  is  very  pleasant  for  me  to  hear,"  said  Ma- 
rion, truthfully.  "  I  like  to  rouse  interest  —  everyone 
does,  I  imagine ;  and  yet  I  should  not  care  for  it  if  it 
were  easily  roused." 

"No,  I  imagine  not,"  said  he,  with  a  look  that 
seemed  to  read  her  through  and  through.  "  You  will 
care  only  for  difficult  things,  and  you  are  made  to 
gain  them." 

Before  Marion  could  express  her  approval  of  this 
prophecy,  the  sound  of  approaching  footsteps  was 
heard,  and  Mrs.  Singleton  entered  the  room,  in  the 
freshest  and  prettiest  of  evening  toilets.  She  held 
out  both  hands  to  Marion,  with  an  air  of  effusion. 

"  I  was  roused  out  of  my  siesta  by  the  most  de- 
lightful sounds!  "  she  cried.     "  At  first  I  thought  it 


FAIRY    GOLD.  89 

must  be  au  ansrel  sin^ino;,  imt  aneels  are  not  in  the 
habit  of  visiting  me ;  so  then  I  remembered  your 
appointment,  and  tliat  I  had  intended  to  be  present  to 
share  the  pleasure  with  uncle.  Unfortunately  I  slept 
too  long  for  that,  but  you  will  sing  some  for  me  now  — 
or  perhaps  we  had  better  defer  it  until  later,  when  Tom 
can  have  the  pleasure  too.  You  remember  that  you 
are  going  to  spend  the  evening  with  us." 

Marion  remembered,  and  was  very  willing  to  do  so ; 
for  these  were  people  whora  she  liked  to  cultivate. 
They  were  not  only  people  of  high  social  considera- 
tion, who  might  be  useful  to  her,  but  their  knowledge 
of  the  world,  their  familiarity  with  society  abroad  as 
well  as  at  home,  and  their  easy  habits  of  wealth  and 
luxury,pleased  her  taste  and  gratified  her  own  instinc- 
tive yearning  for  these  things.  The  quiet,  old-fash- 
ioned comfort  of  her  aunt's  establishment  lost  all  its 
charm  when  contrasted  with  the  fashion  and  lavish 
expenditure  which  were  here.  She  was  the  only  guest 
at  the  beautifully  served  dinner  to  which  they  sat 
down  in  the  summer  gloaming ;  but  she  could  truly 
assure  Mrs.  Singleton  that  she  was  glad  it  was  so. 
"  Who  could  be  found  in  Scarborough  as  entertaining 
as  yourselves.''  "  she  asked. 

"How  very  nice  of  you  to  say  so!  "  replied  that 
lady,  patting  her  hand.  "Then  we  are  very  well 
satisfied ;  for  I  am  sure  nobody  could  be  found  in 
Scarborough  as  entertaining  as  j^ou  are.  In  fact,  you 
,  do  not  belong  to  the  Scarborough  order  of  life  at  all ; 
you  are  totally  out  of  place  here." 

Marion  laughed.  "  I  am  afraid  I  feel  so  occasion- 
ally," she  said;  "but  I  have  au  idea  that  it  is  my 
fault:  that  I  expect  too  much  of  Scarborough." 


90  FAIIiY    GOLD. 

"You  belong  to  another  life  altogether,"  repeated 
Mrs.  Singleton,  positively.  "  I  felt  sure  of  it  the 
first  time  I  saw  you.  A  quiet,  sociable,  country- town 
existence  may  suit  other  people  — 3'our  pretty  cousin, 
for  example,  —  but  it  does  not  suit  you." 

''  That  is  very  true,"  said  Marion.  "  As  a  matter 
of  taste,  it  certainly  does  not  suit  me  ;  but  I  learned 
early  that  one  cannot  always  expect  to  have  one's 
tastes  gratified." 

"  You  are  very  philosophical.  Now,  for  me,  I 
always  expect  to  have  m}'  tastes  gratified,  and  they 
generally  are.  Demand  a  great  deal  and  you  will  get 
at  least  some  of  it ;  that  is  my  philosoph}-." 

"  And,  unlike  man}-  philosophers,  you  alwaj^s  prac- 
tice what  3'ou  preach.  That  I  can  testify,"  said  Mr. 
Singleton  (the  husband).  '•  Don't  let  her  demoralize 
3'ou,  Miss  Lynde.  If  you  have  any  moderation  of 
desire,  by  all  means  keep  and  culture  it." 

''  Unfortunately,  my  desires  are  boundless,"  replied 
Mariou,  smiling.  "It  is  only  my  expectations  which 
are  moderate." 

"  "Well,  that  is  remarkable  enough,"  said  the  gen- 
tleman ;  "if  onl}'  you  can  manage  to  keep  them  so  — 
but  you  will  not." 

"  Why  not?  " 

He  cast  a  glance  into  an  opposite,  mirror.  "  About 
the  best  reason  I  offer  is  to  be  found  there,"  he  an- 
swered. "  No  woman  is  going  to  expect  less  than 
Nature  gave  her  a  right  to  demand." 

And  so  on  all  sides  fresh  fuel  was  offered  to 
the  vanity  which  already  turned  high  and  strong  in 
dangerous  flame. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

SEVERAL  weeks  passed,  during  which  the  ac- 
quaintance of  Marion  with  the  Singletons  pro- 
gressed rapidly  to  intimacy — such  intimacy,  that 
Helen  protested  more  than  once  that  her  cousin  spent 
more  time  with  Mrs.  Singleton  than  with  herself.  She 
was  certainly  very  often  the  companion  of  that  lady  — 
seen  by  her  side  in  the  pretty  phaeton  which  she 
drove,  met  at  all  her  entertainments,  called  upon  for 
all  occasions  when  she  needed  assistance,  social  or 
otherwise.  The  vaguely  understood  link  of  relation- 
ship between  them  served  as  an  excuse  for  this,  had 
any  excuse  been  required  beside  the  caprice  of  the 
elder  and  the  inclination  of  the  younger  lady.  "  I 
have  discovered  a  cousin  in  Miss  Lynde,"  Mrs. 
Singleton  would  say  to  her  Scarborough  acquaintances. 
"  Do  you  not  think  that  I  am  very  fortunate?  "  And 
there  were  few  who  did  not  reply  honestly  that  they 
considered  her  very  fortunate  indeed. 

But  the  person  who  regarded  this  association  most 
approvingly  was  old  Mr.  Singleton,  since  it  secured 
him  a  great  deal  of  Marion's  society,  for  which  he 
evinced  a  partiality.  It  was,  in  fact,  to  this  partiality 
that  Marion  owed  Mrs.  Singleton's  attentions.  "  Your 
uncle  has  taken  a  most  extraordinary  fancy  to  that 
girl,  Tom."  she  said  to  her  husband  at  a  very  early 

(91) 


92  FAIRY   GOLD. 

stage  of  the  acquaintance;  "so  I  think  that  I  had 
better  cultivate  her.  It  will  lie  better  for  me  to  use 
her  as  a  means  to  contril)ute  to  his  amusement  than 
to  let  her  develop  into  a  power  against  us.  There  is 
no  counting  oa  the  whims  of  an  old  man,  vou  know." 

"  Especially  of  this  old  man,"  assented  Mr.  Single- 
ton. "  He  is  capable  of  anything.  Therefore  I  don't 
think  I  would  have  the  girl  about  too  much." 

'•It  is  better  for  me  to  have  her  about  than  for  him 
to  take  her  up.  If  he  considers  her  my  protegee,  he 
will  not  be  so  likelj'  to  make  her  his  own.  I  have 
given  the  matter  some  thought,  and  that  is  the  way  I 
look  at  it." 

"  You  may  be  right,"  said  easy-going  Mr.  Single- 
ton. "  I  have  great  confidence  in  j-our  way  of  look- 
insf  at  things,  and  of  managing  them  too.  But  I 
confess  that  I  have  no  confidence  in  this  handsome 
and  clever  young  lady.  I  don't  think  she  wouhl  hesi- 
tate to  play  one  an}-  trick." 

"Confidence  in  her!"  said  Mrs.  Singleton,  with 
scorn.  "Of  course  I  have  not  a  particle.  But  she 
will  have  no  opportunit}'  to  play  me  a  trick.  Be  sure 
of  that." 

Meanwhile  Helen  said  to  Marion,  rather  doubtfully : 
"Marion,  do  you  really  like  Mrs.  Singleton  very 
much?  She  is  very  pleasant  and  very  elegant,  but 
somehow  —  I  hope  I  am  not  uncharitable  —  I  never 
feel  as  if  one  could  thoroughly  trust  her." 

"  My  dear,"  replied  Marion,  with  her  mocking 
smile,  "  do  you  know,  or  fancy  that  3'ou  know,  many 
people  whom  you  can  '  thoroughly  trust '  ?  If  so,  you 
are  more  fortunate  than  I  am ;  for  I  have  known  only 
one  or  two  in  m}'  life." 


FAIRY    GOLD.  93 

"  O  Marion!  no  more  than  that?  How  can  jou  be 
so  unjust  to  3'our  friends  ?  " 

"  I  Lave  no  friends,  in  the  true  sense  of  the  term, 
except  you  and  Claire.     I  trust  you." 

"  I  hope  so,  and  I  j^ou  —  most  thoroughly." 

Marion  regarded  her  with  something  like  wonder. 
"Now,  wh}^"  she  said,  dispassionately,  '•  should  3'ou 
trust  me?  I  am  sure  I  have  never  shown  a  character 
to  inspire  that  sentiment." 

"  You  delight  in  showing  your  worst  side,"  answered 
Helen;  "but  it  does  not  deceive  me.  I  know  that 
the  worst  is  not  as  bad  as  you  would  have  it  believed 
to  be,  and  that  the  best  exists  all  the  time." 

"  It  certainly  exists  for  you,  and  always  will,"  said 
Marion,  quickly.  "There  is  nothing  I  could  not 
sooner  do  than  betray  your  trust." 

"  How  can  you  even  hint  such  a  thing!  "  exclaimed 
Helen,  indignantly.  "  Do  you  think  I  could  ever 
fear  it?" 

"  No,"  replied  Marion  ;  "  I  am  sure  that  you  would 
never  fear  it  from  any  one  whom  you  love.  But  3"ou 
may  have  to  suffer  it  some  day,  nevertheless  " 

The  speaker's  tone  had  more  significance  than  she 
intended,  and  Helen  looked  at  her  "with  a  glance  of 
sudden  apprehension.  "What  do  3'ou  mean?"  she 
asked.      "  Why  should  I  fear  it?  " 

"  Why  should  any  of  us  fear  that  we  will  have  to 
share  in  the  common  lot  —  the  common  knowledge  of 
evil  as  well  as  of  good.?"  said  Marion,  evasively. 
"  We  must  all  expect  it;  at  least  that  is  one  of  the 
pleasant  things  we  are  told." 

"Oh!  j'es,  I  suppose  we  must  expect  it,"  said 
Helen.     "  But    expecting  a  thing  in  a  general  way, 


94  FAIBY    GOLD. 

and  doubting  an}'  —  any  one  in  particular,  is  a  very 
different  matter." 

The  conversation  ended  here;  but  the  mere  fact  that 
she  had  been  so  quick  to  take  alarm  might  have  told 
Helen  that,  unconsciously  to  herself,  suspicion  had 
taken  some  root  in  her  mind.  The  readiness  with 
which  she  put  herself  into  an  attitude  of  defense 
showed  that  she  feared  attack.  And,  indeed,  she  had 
already  suffered  more  than  one  attack  on  the  subject 
of  Rathborne  —  if  that  could  be  called  attack  which 
was  only  the  expression  of  a  gentle  doubt,  first  from 
her  mother,  and  then  from  the  priest,  who,  distrusting 
all  such  marriages  in  general,  had  special  reasons  for 
distrusting  this  one  in  particular.  Like  most  priests, 
he  had  many  sources  of  information  ;  many  streams 
flowed,  as  it  were,  into  the  silent  reservoir  of  his  mind ; 
and  in  this  way  things  concerning  Eathborne  had 
come  to  bis  knowledge,  which  rendered  him  deeply 
averse  to  seeing  Helen  link  her  pure  young  life  with 
that  of  a  man  so  unscrupulous  and  selfish.  Loath  to 
<iive  pain  if  unable  to  achieve  any  practical  good 
therebj^,  he  had  spoken  very  guardedly  to  her  when 
she  sought  his  counsel;  but,  perhaps  because  he 
spoke  with  so  much  caution,  bis  words  sank  deei^y 
into  her  mind,  and  left  a  sense  of  weight  behind. 
lUu,  it  was  one  of  her  characteristics  that,  after  once 
reposing  confidence  in  a  person,  she  could  not  lightl}' 
recall  it;  and  she  clung  to  Rathborne  more  closely 
f  r  ihe  opposition  which  she  attributed  to  mistaken 
judgment. 

Nevertheless,  Helen  was  alread}'  learning  something 
of  what  Marion  called  the  common  lo:, —  she  was  ac- 
quiring some  knowledge  of  the  difficulty  of  reconciling 


FAIBY    GOLD.  95 

conflicting  desii'es,  and  of  the  impossibilit}'  of  finding 
things  made  smooth  and  easy.  Now  and  then  there 
was  a  wistful  look  in  her  eyes,  which  touched  her 
mother  deepl}',  and  made  her  ready  to  consent  to 
anything  which  would  restore  sunshine  to  one  wha 
seemed  so  wholly  made  to  enjoy  it. 

But  Mrs.  Dalton  was  not  blind  to  one  fact,  which 
may  or  may  not  have  been  clear  to  Helen,  —  the  sig- 
nificant fact  that  Rathborne  had  not,  since  the  return 
home  of  her  daughter,  pressed  his  suit  with  his  fornier 
ardor.  He  had  not  begged  that  the  conditional  and 
merely  tolerated  engagement  should  be  converted 
into  an  open  and  positive  one  ;  he  seemed  quite  satis- 
fied with  matters  as  they  stood,  and  took  Helen's  sen- 
timents entirely  too  much  for  granted,  so  Helen's 
mother  thought.  What  to  do,  however,  she  did  not 
clearly  perceive,  and  Father  Barrett  strongly  advised 
a  policy  of  inaction.  "Let  matters  take  their  own 
course,"  he  said.  "  I  am  of  opinion  that  Helen  may 
be  spared  what  you  fear  most  for  her ;  but  this  cannot 
be  brought  about  by  any  effort  of  yours,  which  would 
tend,  on  the  contrary,  to  rouse  opposition.  If  the 
child  must  suffer,  in  any  event  do  not  let  her  have  the 
additional  pain  of  thinking  that  she  owes  any  of  the 
suffering  to  you." 

To  this  counsel  Mrs.  Dalton  orave  heed  —  or  thousfht 
she  did.  But  many  things  betrayed  to  Helen  that  her 
mother's  disapproval  of  Rathborne's  suit  had  not 
lessened  with  time.  Anxious  to  avoid  any  possible 
conflict,  the  girl  shrank  from  broaching  the  subject ; 
but  it  was  a  growing  pain  to  her  affectionate  nature 
that  there  should  be  a  subject  —  and  that  the  nearest 
her  heart   and   life  —  in    which  she  was  not  sure   of 


"9J  FAIIiT    GOLD. 

her  mother's  sympathy  —  where  het'  deepest  feelings 
might  yet  be  arrayed  against  each  other,  and  a  diffi- 
cult choice  be  made  necessary. 

To  Marion,  meantime,  Rathborne  had  become  some- 
what troublesome.  As  we  learn  in  many  an  old  legend 
that  it  is  easier  to  raise  a  fiend  than  to  put  him  down, 
so  she  found  it  easier  to  make  the  impression  which 
she  had  desired  than  to  regulate  the  effect  of  that  im- 
pression. She  had  made  it  with  the  utmost  ease, —  an 
ease  very  flattering  to  her  vanity  ;  but,  innocent  as  she 
had  been  of  any  intention  save  that  of  gratifying 
vanity,  retribution  followed  hard  upon  her  steps. 
Apart  from  the  fact  that  she  was  incapable  of  delib- 
erately betraying  Helen's  confidence,  she  trusted 
Rathborne  no  further  than  most  other  people  did. 
Moreover,  her  arrogance  of  spirit  was  as  gi'eat  as  her 
ambition,  and  she  considered  herself  fitted  for  a  posi- 
tion much  higher  than  he  could  possibly  offer  her  —  had 
she  believed  him  ready  to  offer  anything  But,  so  far 
from  believing  this,  she  gave  him  no  credit  for  any 
sincerity  of  intention  toward  her,  knowing  well  that 
self-interest  was  the  sole  rule  of  his  life.  "  He  dares 
to  think  that  he  can  arause  himself  with  me  and  then 
marry  Helen!"  she  thought.  "There  may  be  two 
who  can  pla^''  at  that  game     Let  us  see!  " 

The  thought  that  it  was  a  very  dangerous  game 
did  not  occur  to  her ;  or,  if  it  occurred,  did  not  deter 
her.  At  this  time  of  her  life  she  had  only  a  sense  of 
worldly  honor  to  deter  her  from  anything  which  she 
desired  to  do ;  and  she  desired  most  sincerely  to 
punish  the  man  whom  she  believed  to  be  Irue  neither 
to  Helen  nor  herself.  Therefore,  although  his  atten- 
tions  began  to    annoy  her,    she    did   not   discourage 


FAIBY    GOLD.  97 

them,  notwithstanding  that  she  noted  scornfully  how 
he  avoided,  as  far  as  possible,  devoting  himself  to  her 
when  he  was  likely  to  be  observed.  But  his  precau- 
tions had  not  saved  him,  as  we  are  aware,  from  the 
keen  observation  of  Frank  Morely ;  and  Mrs.  Dalton 
herself,  with  eyes  sharpened  by  a  mother's  anxiety, 
began  to  perceive  that  Marion  possessed  a  great 
attraction  for  him. 

Matters  were  in  this  by  no  means  satisfactoiy  state 
when  Mrs.  Singleton,  growing  weary  of  other  forms  of 
amusement,  decided  to  patronize  Nature.  There  was 
a  great  deal  of  beautiful  scenery  in  Ihe  vicinity  of 
Scarborough,  which  she  declared  had  been  too  long 
neglected.  "  A  picnic  is  horrid!"  she  said.  "The 
very  word  is  full  of  vulgar  associations,  and  the  thing 
itself  is  tiresome  bej'ond  expression.  One  would 
grow  weary  of  the  most  delightful  people  in  the  world 
if  doomed  to  spend  a  whole  day  in  the  woods  with 
them.  But  a  few  hours  in  the  pleasantest  part  of  the 
day —  that  is  another  matter.  A  gypsy  tea  is  just  the 
thing!  We  will  go  out  in  the  afternoon  to  Elk  Ridge, 
have  tea,  look  at  the  sunset,  and  return  by  moonlight ; 
is  not  that  a  good  idea.?  " 

"  Excellent,"  said  the  persons  whom  she  addressed — 
a  party  of  five  or  six  who  had  been  dining  with  her. 
"It  will  make  a  very  pleasant  excursion,  onl}^  we 
must  be  sure  of  the  moon." 

"Oh!  we  have  onl}^  to  consult  the  almanac  for 
that,"  said  the  lively  hostess.  "  I  think  there  is  a 
new  moon  due  about  this  time." 

Marion  laughed,  and,  touching  the  arm  of  old  Mr. 
Singleton,  by  whom  she  sat,  pointed  out  of  a  western 
window  to  the  evening  sky,  where  hung  the  beautiful 


VS  FAIBY    GOLD. 

crescent  of  tlie  moon,  framed  between  tbe  arching 
boughs  of  tall  trees. 

"  Hum  — .yes,''  observed  that  gentleman.  "Anna's 
attention  to  Nature  is  altogether  controlled  by  the 
question  of  whether  or  not  it  can  be  made  to 
contribute  to  her  amusement.  Now  that  the  moon 
has  arrived,  it  will  not  be  long  before  the  gypsy  tea 
takes  place." 

And,  indeed,  in  a  few  days  all  arrangements  for  this 
festivity  were  completed,  the  parly  made  up,  and 
the  progi'amme  settled.  Mrs.  Singleton  wished  that 
Marion  should  accompany  her ;  but  Helen  protested 
so  much  against  this  that  the  arrangement  was 
changed ;  and  it  was  finally  settled  that  Marion  and 
herself,  with  Rathborne  and  Morley,  would  makeup 
a.  parti  carre  in  a  light  open  carriage. 

There  is  nothing  more  attractive  to  youth,  nothing 
more  suited  to  its  natural  lightness  of  heart  and  spirit, 
than  such  pleasures  as  these  —  golden  afternoons  in 
summer  woods  and  under  summer  skies ;  sunsets 
when  all  nature  is  flooded  with  beauty,  like  a  crystal 
cup  filled  to  the  brim  ;  and  nights  of  spiritual,  entranc- 
ing loveliness.  Even  with  older  persons,  the  sense  of 
care  seems  lifted  from  the  mind  for  a  little  time 
among  such  scenes  ;  while  to  the  young  and  happy, 
care  is  a  thing  impossible  to  realize  when  earth  itself 
in  transformed  into  Arcadia. 

So  Helen  felt  as  she  started  on  this  excursion.  In 
some  subtle  fashion,  the  doubts  which  had  weighed 
upon  her  for  a  considerable  time  past  were  lifted. 
She  did  not  say  to  herself  that  she  had  been  foolish, 
for  she  was  little  given  to  self-analysis ;  but  invol- 
untarily she  felt  it,  involuntarily  she   threw  off  the 


FAIBY    GOLD.  99 

shadow  which  had  fallen  over  her,  and  grasped  the 
pleasure  offered,  as  a  child  puts  out  its  hand  to  grasp 
sunbeams.  When  they  drove  SLVfay,  her  heart  was  as 
light  as  a  feather,  her  face  as  bright  as  the  day,  and 
she  turned  back  to  wave  her  hand  in  gay  farewell  to 
her  mother. 


CHAPTER   X. 

ELK  RIDGE,  the  place  selected  by  Mrs.  Single- 
ton for  her  g3'psy  tea,  was  a  very  picturesque 

and  beautiful  locality,  distant  seven  miles  from 
Scarborough.  The  drive  there,  through  the  soft, 
golden  beauty  of  the  August  afternoon,  was  delight- 
ful ;  and  the  beauties  of  the  height  when  reached  wtll 
repaid  any  exertion  that  might  have  been  necessary 
to  gain  it.  Since  none  was  necessary,  however,  it 
proved  a  great  surprise  to  those  who  had  not  been 
there  before  to  find  themselves  on  a  noble  eminence, 
crowned  by  splendid  masses  of  rock,  and  commanding 
a  most  extensive  view  of  the  smiling  country  around 
and  the  blue  mountains  in  the  distance.  It  was  an 
ideal  spot  for  al  fresco  amusements,  and  the  party 
assembled  were  in  the  mood  to  enjoy  it. 

Very  soon  a  kettle  was  hung  from  crossed  sticks 
over  a  blazing  fire  ;  and  while  the  water  was  boiling, 
and  the  arrangements  for  tea  in  progress,  all  those 
who  were  not  actively  engaged  in  these  arrangements 
scattered  over  the  summit,  admiring  the  view,  and 
now  and  then  climbing  some  of  the  more  accessible 
of  the  great  granite  boulders.  Among  the  last  were 
Helen  and  Frank  Morley,  both  in  high  spirits,  and 
laughing  like  a  pair  of  merry  children.  Marion 
shrugged  her  shoulders  over  their  exploits. 

(100) 


FAJBY   GOLD.  101 

"I  have  never  been  young  enough  for  that,"  she 
said  to  Rathborne.  "  I  could  never,  at  any  stage  of 
existence,  see  the  '  fun  '  of  risldng  one's  neck." 

"It  is  childish!  "  he  responded,  with  ill-concealed 
contempt.  He  had  endeavored  to  dissuade  Helen, 
but  for  once  she  had  been  deaf  to  his  remonstrances. 
Her  spirits  were  so  high  this  afternoon  that  an  outlet 
for  them  was  indispensable ;  and  she  was  still  so  much 
of  a  child  that  this  special  outlet  of  physical  exertion 
and  daring  was  very  agreeable  to  her. 

"  I  suppose  it  is  a  good  thing  to  be  childish  now 
and  then,"  said  Marion.  "  I  don't  think  J  ever  was  ; 
and,  no  doubt,  it  is  so  much  the  worse  for  me." 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  think,  so  much  the  better," 
replied  Rathborne.  "Where  there  is  childishness 
there  must  be  folly,  and  I  cannot  imagine  you  guilty 
of  that." 

"Can  you  not?"  She  paused  an  instant  and 
seemed  to  reflect.  "  But  there  are  things  worse  than 
folly,"  she  said,  with  one  of  her  sudden  imjDulses  of 
candor;  "  and  I  might  be  guilty  of  some  of  them." 

"Oh!  you  might  —  yes."  He  laughed.  "So 
might  I.  Perhaps  for  that  reason  I  have  more  sym- 
pathy with  them  than  with  folly.'* 

Marion  gave  liim  a  glance  which  he  did  not  under- 
stand nor  yet  altogether  fancy.  "Yes,"  she  said, 
"  I  am  ver}^  sure  you  have  more  sympathy  with  what 
is  bad  than  with  what  is  foolish." 

Before  he  could  reply  to  such  an  equivocal  speech, 
Mrs.  Singleton  sent  a  messenger  for  Miss  Lynde  to 
come  and  help  her  pour  out  tea ;  and  the  young  lady 
rose  and  walked  away. 

It    was  very    gay    arid    bright    and    pleasant,    that 


102  FAinr    GOLD. 

ojpsy  tt;a  among  the  rocks,  with  depths  of  verdure 
overhead  and  fai'-stretching  beauty  of  outspread 
country  below.  The  amber  sunshine  streamed  over 
the  scene ;  pretty  pale-blue  smoke,  from  the  fire  over 
which  the  kettle  hung,  mounted  in  the  air;  there  was 
a  musical  chatter  of  tongues  and  sound  of  laughter. 
At  such  times  and  in  such  scenes  it  is  difficult  for  the 
most  thoughtful  to  realize  the  great  sadness  of  the 
world,  the  care  that  encompasses  life,  and  the  pain 
that  overshadows  it.  But  these  light  hearts  were 
never  at  any  time  troubled  with  the  realization  of  such 
things.  The}^  w^ere  all  young  and,  for  the  most  part, 
prosperous ;  life  went  easily  with  them,  and  nothing 
seemed  more  remote  than  trouble  or  unhappiness. 
The  hours  sped  lightly  by,  as  such  houis  do,  and 
presently  it  was  time  to  think  of  returning.  The  sun 
sank  into  his  golden  bed,  the  moon  would  soon  rise 
majestically  in  the  east,  and  the  drive  back  to 
Scarborough  would  be  as  delightful  as  the  drive 
out  had  been. 

But  just  before  the  move  for  departure  was  made 
Rathborne  came  to  Marion  and  said  :  "  You  have  not 
yet  seen  the  finest  view  —  that  from  the  other  side  of 
the  Ridge.  Would  you  not  like  to  walkover  there  and 
look  at  it?  " 

"  I  think  not,"  replied  Marion,  who  did  not  care  for 
a  tete-a-tete  with  him.     "  I  am  not  very  fond  of  views." 

"  O  but,  Marion,  this  view  is  really  fine!  "  cried 
Helen,  eagerly.  "Pray  go;  you  will  be  repaid  for 
the  exertion  " 

Not  caring  to  make  her  refusal  more  marked,  Marion 
rose  with  an  inward,  sense  of  vexation.  "  Very  well, 
then,"  she  said  to  Rathborne ;   "  since  Helen  is  sure  I 


FAIBY   GOLD.  103 

will  be  repaid  for  the  exertion,  I  will  go  ;  but,  since  I 
am  not  sure,  I  hope  the  exertion  required  is  not  very 
much." 

"  It  is  only  that  of  walking  about  a  hundred  yards," 
he  answered.  And  as  they  turned  and  followed  a  well- 
defined  path,  which  led  among  the  rocks  and  trees,  he 
added,  "I  do  not  mean,  however,  to  insist  upon  an}' 
exertion  which  would  be  disagreeable  to  you." 

Marion  might  truthfully  have  answered  that  it  was 
not  the  exertion  which  was  disagreeable  to  her ;  but 
she  had  no  desire  to  make  an  enemy  of  this  man,  and 
instinct  told  her  that  whoever  wounded  his  vanity  was 
thenceforth  to  him  an  enemj'.  So  she  replied  lightly 
that  she  was  very  indolent,  especially  where  the 
beauties  of  nature  were  concerned ;  but  that  she  had 
no  doubt  the  view  would  repay  her  after  she  reached  it. 

"I  think  it  will,"  said  Rathborne ;  "otherwise  I 
should  not  have  proposed  your  coming." 

And  indeed  even  Marion,  who  was  right  in  saying 
that  the  beauties  of  nature  did  not  greatly  appeal  to 
her,  was  moved  by  the  loveliness  and  extent  of  the 
view  suddenly  spread  before  her,  when  they  came  to 
the  verge  of  the  Ridge,  on  the  other  side,  where  the 
hill  broke  off  in  a  sheer  precipice.  The  great  rock- 
face  of  this  precipice  shelved  downward  to  a  soft, 
pastoral  valley,  beyond  which  were  belts  of  encircling 
woodlands,  green  hills  rising  into  bolder  heights  as 
they  receded,  and  a  distant  range  of  azure  mountains 
fair  as  hills  of   paradise. 

"Oh!  this  is  glorious!"  cried  Marion,  involun- 
taril}',  as  the  broad  scene,  with  the  long,  golden  lights 
and  beautiful  shadows  of  late  evening  falling  across  it, 
was  suddenly  revealed  by  an  abrupt  turn  in  the  path. 


104  FAIEY    GOLD. 

She  walked  to  the  edge  of  the  precipice  and  stood 
there,  with  hands  lightly  clasped,  looking  into  the  far, 
magical  distance.  At  this  moment,  as  in  other  mo- 
ments like  it,  something  stirred  in  her  nature  deeper 
and  nobler  than  its  ordinary  impulses.  She  had  a 
consciousness  of  possibilities  which  at  other  times 
Were  remote  from  her  realization, —  possibilities  of 
loftier  action  and  feeling,  of  a  higher  standard,  of  a 
loftier  aim  than  her  life  had  known.  It  was  a  state  of 
feelingf  not  unlike  that  which  came  to  her  in  the  Catho- 
lie  church,  and  she  shrank  from  it.  By  this  grand 
arch  of  bending,  lucid  sky,  by  those  distant  heaven]}^ 
heights  with  their  mystical  suggestions,  thoughts  were 
roused  in  her  which  seemed  in  little  accord  with  the 
other  thoughts  of  her  life.  She  forgot  for  a  moment 
the  man  who  stood  beside  her,  and  started  when  he 
spoke. 

"  It  repays  you  —  I  see  that,"  he  said.  "  And  so 
I  am  repaid  for  bringing  you." 

"Yes,  it  is  very  beautiful,"  she  answered,  slowlj'; 
"  but  I  am  not  sure  that  I  am  obliged  to  you  for 
bringing  me  here.  It  produces  in  me  feelings  that  I 
do  not  like." 

"What  kind  of  feelings?"  inquired  Rathborne, 
curiously. 

She  swept  him  with  a  quick  glance  from  under  her 
half-drooped  eyelids,  and  he  had  again  the  impression 
that  it  conveyed  something  of  contempt.' 

"If  I  could  define  them,"  she  said,  "I  doubt  if 
you  would  be  able  to  understand  them.  I  am  certain 
that  you  have  never  felt  anything  of  the  kind." 

"  TVh}'  should  you  be  certain  of  that?  "  he  asked,  a 
little    irritated    as  well  by  her  tone  as  by  her  glance. 


FAIBY   GOLD.  105 

"You  do  not  surely  think  that  you  have  gauged  all 
my  possibilities  of  feeling." 

"  I  have  made  no  attempt  to  do  so,"  she  said,  in- 
differently. "'Why  should  I?  But  one  receives  some 
impressions  instinctively." 

"  And  you  think,  perhaps,  that  I  have  no  feeling," 
he  replied  quickly;  "that  I  am  cold  and  hard  and 
selfish,  and  altogether  a  calculating  machine.  But  you 
are  mistaken.  I  was  all  that  once  —  I  frankly  confess 
it, —  but  since  I  have  known  you,  I  have  changed.  I 
have  learned  what  it  is  to  feel  in  the  deepest  manner." 

There  was  a  short  silence.  Marion's  heart  gave  a 
great  bound  and  then  seemed  to  stand  still.  A  fear 
which  she  had  striven  to  put  away  was  now  a  horrible 
certainty.  She  had  played  with  fire,  and  the  moment 
of  scorching  was  come  —  come  to  desecrate  a  place 
which  she  had  felt  to  be  a  sanctuary  filled  with  the 
consciousness  of  God.  Her  first  impulse  was  to  turn 
and  go  away  without  a  word ;  her  next,  to  utter  words 
as  scornful  as  her  mood. 

"If  I  am  mistaken,  so  are  you,  Mr.  Rathborne," 
she  said, —  "  exceedingly  mistaken  in  imagining  that 
I  have  given  any  thought  to  your  feelings,  or  that  I 
am  in  the  faintest  degree  interested  in  them." 

Her  tone  stung  him  like  the  stroke  of  a  whip,  and 
roused  a  passion  on  which  she  had  not  calculated. 
He  took  a  few  hasty  steps  toward  her;  and  she  found 
herself  prisoned  between  the  precipice  on  one  side, 
and  this  man,  who  stood  and  looked  at  her  with  eyes 
that  gleamed  under  his  frowning  brow. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  he  said,  peremptorily, 
"  that- you  have  no  interest  in  feelings  which  you  have 
deliberately  excited  and  encouraged?     Do  you. mean 


lOG  FAIRY    GOLD. 

to  say  that  you  have  meant  noihing  when  by  every  art 
in  your  power  you  have  led  me  on  to  love  you?  " 

Surely  retribution  was  very  heavy  upon  Marion  at 
that  moment.  The  injustice  of  the  charge  —  for  of 
any  such  intention  her  conscience  acquitted  her  — 
only  added  to  her  sense  of  angry  humiliation,  and  to 
the  consciousness,  which  she  could  not  ignore,  that 
she  had,  in  some  degree  at  least,  brought  this  upon 
herself.  Her  indignation  was  so  deep,  her  auger  so 
great,  that  for  once  her  readiness  of  speech  failed,  and 
she  could  only  reply : 

'■'■  How  dare  you  address  me  in  this  manner?  " 

He  laughed  —  a  short,  bitter  laugh,  not  pleasant  to 
hear.  "  You  are  a  good  actor,  Miss  Lynde,"  he  said, 
"  I  never  doubted  your  capacity  in  that  line;  but  1 
see  that  it  is  even  greater  than  I  imagined.  How  dare 
I  address  you  with  the  truth!  Why  should  I  not? 
You  have  made  me  believe  that  you  desired  nothing 
more  than  to  hear  it.  Your  manner  to  me,  since  the 
first  evening  we  met,  has  admitted  of  but  one  inter- 
pretation —  that  you  wished  to  excite  the  feeling  I 
have  not  hesitated  to  show  you.  And  so  long  as  I 
merely  sJiowed  it,  you  were  pleased ;  but  now  that 
I  utter  it,  you  profess  an  indignation  which  it  is 
impossible  you  can  feel." 

"  You  are  speaking  falsely!  "  cried  Marion,  whose 
anger  was  now  so  excessive  that  no  words  seemed 
strong  enough  to  express  it.  "I  have  never  for  one 
instant  wished  to  encourage  the  feeling  of  which  you 
speak.  I  knew  you  were  engaged  to  Helen,  and  I 
thought  you  something,  at  least,  of  a  gentleman.  I 
now  see  that  you  have  no  claim  whatever  to  that  title. 
Let  me  pass!  " 


FAinr    GOLD.  107 

"No,"  he  said — and  now  he  extended  his  hand 
and  caught  her  wrist  iu  a  vise-like  grasp.  "  I  have 
no  doubt,  from  the  proficiency  5'ou  exhibit,  that  you 
have  played  this  game  before  with  success ;  but  you 
shall  not  have  the  pleasure  of  pla3dng  it  successfully 
with  me.  In  one  way  or  another,  1  will  make  it  a 
costlj''  game  to  you,  unless  you  tell  me  that  all  this 
affected  indignation  means  nothing,  and  that  if  I  end 
my  entanglement  with  Helen,  you  will  marry  me." 

"Let  me  go!"  said  Marion,  pale  and  breathless 
with  passion.  "If  you  were  free  as  air  —  if  you 
hnd  never  been  engaged  to  Helen  —  I  would  not  think 
of  marrying  you  !     Is  that  enough?  " 

"Quite  enough,"  he  answered  —  but  still  he  did 
not  release  her  wrist.  "  Xow  listen  to  me.  I  am  not 
a.  man  with  whom  any  woman  —  not  even  one  so  clever 
as  3'ou  are  —  can  amuse  herself  witli  impunity.  I  do 
not  mean  to  be  melodramatic  ;  I  shall  not  curse  you 
for  your  deception,  for  the  heartlessness  with  which 
you  have  sacrificed  me  to  your  vault}' ;  but  I  warnj'ou 
that  3'ou  have  made  an  enemy  who  will  leave  nothing 
undone  to  pay  his  debt.  I  read  3'ou  very  thoroughly, 
beautiful  and  unscrupulous  schemer  that  you  are  ;  and 
I  promise  3'ou  that  in  the  hour  when  3'ou  think  3'our 
schemes  are  nearest  success,  you  will  find  them  de- 
feated by  me.     To  that  I  pledge  m3'self." 

There  is  sometliing  terrible  in  feeling  ontj's  self  the 
object  of  hatred,  even  if  that  hatred  be  both  unde- 
served and  impotent ;  and,  brave  as  Marion  was, 
proud  and  defiant  as  she  was,  she  felt  herself  shiver 
under  these  words,  and  miderthe  gaze  which  seconded 
them.  What,  indeed,  if  she  had  made  a  mistake  on 
the  very  threshold  of  the  life  in  which  she  had  ex- 


108  FAIRY   GOLD. 

pected  to  manage  so  well.  What  if,  instead  of  mak- 
ing a  satisfactory  test  of  her  power,  she  had  roused  an 
enmity  which  even  her  experience  knew  to  be  more 
powerful  and  more  tireless  than  love?  She  did  not 
quail  under  the  fiery  gaze  bent  on  her,  but  her  heart 
sank  with  a  sense  of  apprehension,  of  which  she  was 
strong  enough  to  give  no  outward  sign. 

"  It  is  a  very  worthy  object  to  which  you  pledge 
yourself,"  she  observed,  with  scorn,  "But  I  am  not 
afraid  of  a  man  who  is  cowardly  enough  to  threaten  a 
woman  with  his  enmity  because  she  rejects  and 
despises  what  he  calls  his  love." 

Her  voice  had  always  a  peculiar  quality  of  clearness 
in  speaking,  but  when  she  was  at  all  excited  it  was  like 
silver  in  its  resonance.  Therefore  the  words  distinctly 
reached  the  ears  of  one  who  was  coming  toward  them, 
and  the  next  instant  Helen's  pale  face  and  startled 
eyes  rose  before  her. 

She  uttered  a  sharp  exclamation,  which  stopped  the 
words  that  were  rising  to  Rathborne's  lips ;  and, 
wrenching  her  arm  from  his  grasp,  she  sprang  forward 
to  her  cousin's  side.  "Helen!  "  she  cried,  uncon- 
scious almost  of  what  she  said,  "  what  are  you  doing 
here?" 

It  is  not  always  the  people  who  seem  most  weak 
whom  emergency  proves  to  be  so.  At  this  moment 
Helen  exhibited  a  self-control  which  would  have  sur- 
prised even  those  who  knew  her  best.  She  was  pale 
as  marble,  and  her  violet  eyes  had  still  their  startled, 
piteous  look  ;  but  she  answered,  quietly: — 

"  I  came  to  look  for  you.  It  was  foolish  —  I  will 
go  back  now.     Don't  trouble  to  come  with  me." 

But    as     she    turned,    Marion     seized     her    arm. 


FAIRY   GOLD.  109 

*' Helen!"  she    exclaimed,    "don't  misjudge    me! 
Don't  think  that  this  is  my  f.ault!  " 

"  No,"  replied  Helen,  with  the  same  strange  quiet- 
ness ;  "  I  heard  what  you  said.  I  don't  blame —  any 
one.     I  suppose  it  was  natural." 

Then  it  was  Rathborne's  turn.  "  Helen,"  he  said, 
coming  up  to  her,  and  speaking  with  an  attempt  at 
the  old  tone  of  authority  ;  "you  must  listen  to  me." 

But  she  turned  away  from  him  with  something:  like 
a  shudder.  "  No,"  she  said,  "  do  not  ask  me  —  not 
now.  I  may  be  weak,  but  not  so  weak  as  not  to 
understand  —  this.  Don't  come  with  me.  Frank  will 
look  after  me  and  take  me  home.  That  is  all  I- 
want." 

She  moved  away  through  the  beautiful  greenery,  a 
slender,  lovely  figure,  with  drooping  head ;  and  the 
two  whom  she  left  behind  watched  her  with  one  sensa- 
tion at  least  in  common  —  that  of  a  keen  sense  of 
guilt,  which  for  the  moment  no  other  feeling  was 
strong  enough  to  stifle. 


CHAPTER   XL 

WHEN  Marion  returued  to  the  party,  who 
were  preparing  for  their  homeward  drive, 
Frank  Morley  came  up  to  her  with  a  very 
grave   face. 

"Helen  tells  me  that  she  is  feeling  so  bad,  Miss 
Lynde,"  he  said,  coldly,  "  that  she  wishes  me  to  take 
her  home.  1  have,  therefore,  arranged  for  our  return 
in  the  buggy  in  which  Netta  came  out,  nnd  she  and 
her  escort  will  take  our  places  in  the  carriage  with 
you." 

'•Make  whatever  arrangement  you  please,"  an- 
swered Marion,  as  coldl}'  as  himself;  "  but  pray  leave 
me  out  of  it.  There  is  a  vacant  seat  in  Mrs.  iSingle- 
ton's  carriage,  which  I  shall  take  for  the  return." 

"  Very  well  —  the  matter,  is  settled,  then,"  he  said. 
"  I  will  take  Helen  away  at  once."  And  he  walked 
off  with  a  scant  courtesy,  which  his  youth  and  indig- 
nation excused. 

But  it  was  a  new  sensation  to  Marion  to  be  treated 
with  discourtesy  by  any  one ;  and  she  had  to  pull 
herself  together  with  an  effort  before  she  was  able  to 
approach  Mrs.  Singleton  in  her  usual  manner,  and 
announce  that  she  was  willing  to  take  the  seat  she  had 
before  declined. 

'■  1  don't  like  to  repeat  anything,  not  even  a  drive, 
(110) 


FAJL'Y    GOLDx  111 

in  exactl}'  the  same  manner,"  she  said  by  way  of 
explanation  ;  "  so  if  you  will  allow  me,  I  will  join  you 
for  the  homeward  drive." 

"  I  shall  be  delighted  to  have  you,"  answered  Mrs. 
Singleton.  "  I  thought  you  would  do  better  to  come 
with  me.  Tom  will  be  delighted,  too.  You  shall  sit 
with  him,  and  drive  if  he  will  let  you." 

Good-natured  Mr.  Singleton  was  much  pleased  to 
share  his  box  seat  with  such  a  companion,  and  even  to 
make  over  the  reins  to  her  whenever  the  road  was 
good  enough  to  allow  of  it  with  safety ;  while  to 
Marion  there  was  distraction  from  her  own  thoughts  — 
from  the  recollection  of  unpleasant  complications,  and 
the  sense  of  angry  humiliation  —  in  guiding  the  spirited 
horses,  that  tried  all  the  strength  of  her  arms  and 
wrists,  and  required  an  undivided  attention. 

However,  the  drive  was  soon  over,  and  then  she  had 
before  her  the  disagreeable  necessity  of  facing  her 
aunt  and  Helen.  Brave  as  she  was,  she  was  assailed 
by  a  cowardly  impulse  to  avoid  meeting  them.  What 
if  she  went  home  with  Mrs.  Singleton,  and  for  the 
evening:  at  least  did  not  meet  them?  But  what  would 
be  gained  by  that,  except  delay?  She  knew  that 
unless  she  wished  to  leave  it  in  Rathborne's  power  to 
make  what  statement  he  chose,  she  must  go  to  them 
with  her  own  statement ;  and,  this  being  so,  delay 
would  serve  no  end  except  to  give  the  impression  of 
heartless  indifference.  No,  there  was  nothing  for  it 
but  to  meet  at  once  what  had  to  be  met  sooner  or 
later ;  so  when  the  Singleton  carriage  drew  up  at  her 
aunt's  gate,  she  exchanged  a  gay  farewell  with  her 
companions,  and  with  a  heavy  heart  and  reluctant  step 
took  her  way  to  the  house. 


112  FAIRY    GOLD. 

How  different  from  its  usual  aspect  that  house 
looked,  as  she  drew  near  it!  Usually  at  this  hour 
hrioht  lights  shone  from  the  windows  ;  there  would  be 
snatches  of  music,  sounds  of  voices  and  laughter ;  if 
the  moon  were  shining  as  to-night,  a  gay  party  would 
he  assembled  on  the  veranda.  Now  it  was  still  and 
quiet ;  the  lights  in  the  drawing-room  were  turned  low  ; 
the  broad,  open  hall  looked  deserted.  Only  one  figure 
emerged  from  the  shadow  of  the  vines  on  the  veranda 
into  the  full  moonlight  as  she  upproached.  It  was  a 
small  figure —  tha:.  of  Harry  Dalton. 

•'  Why,  Harry!  "  exclaimed  Marion,  with  an  effort 
to  speak  as  usual,  "are  you  all  alone?  Where  is 
Helen?" 

"  Helen  has  gone  upstairs;  she  has  a  headache," 
answered  Harry.  "  But  mamma  is  in  the  sitting- 
room,  and  wants  to  see  you." 

"'  Very  well,"  said  Marion.  She  began  to  unbutton 
her  gloves,  as  some  outward  relief  to  her  inward 
agitation,  and  without  pausing,  walked  into  tlie  house. 
Since  the  interview  must  take  place,  tlie  sooner  it  was 
over  the  better  —  so  she  said  to  herself  as  she  entered 
the  room  where  her  aunt  awaited  her. 

Mrs.  Dalton  was  sitting  by  a  table  on  which  stood 
a  shaded  lamp,  and,  with  a  book  open  before  her, 
seemed  to  be  reading;  but  her  effort  to  fix  her  mind 
on  the  page  had  not  met  with  much  success.  She  had, 
in  reality,  been  waiting  for  the  sound  of  her  niece's 
step;  and  when  she  heard  her  coming,  slie  was  con- 
scious of  as  much  shrinking  from  the  interview  as 
Marion  felt.  "  I  must  be  reasonable,"  she  said  to 
herself;  :ind  then,  pushing  back  her  volume,  she 
looked    up    as   the    girl   entered. 


FAIBV   GOLD.  113 

It  was  characteristic  of  Marion  that  she  spoke  first. 
"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that  Heleu  is  not  well,  aunt," 
she  said.     "  Has  she  been  at  home  long?  " 

"About  half  an  hour,"  answered  Mi's.  Dalton. 
"  She  has  gone  to  her  room  ;  she  asked  that  she  might 
be  left  alone.  That  is  so  unlike  Helen,  that  I  am 
sure  something  very  serious  has  occurred.  And  I 
judge  from  a  few  words  which  Frank  said,  that  you 
know  what  it  is,  Marion." 

"  What  did  Mr.  Frank  Morle}^  say?  ''  inquired 
Marion,  sitting  down.  The  introduction  of  his  name 
roused  in  her  an  immediate  sense  of  defiance.  After 
all,  what  right  had  they  to  suppose  that  what  had 
happened  was  any  fault  of  hers  ? 

"  He  said  that  Helen  had  overheard  something 
which  passed  between  Paul  Rathborne  and  yourself," 
answered  Mrs.  Dalton  ;  "  and  that  afterward  she  had 
asked  him  to  bring  her  home  alone.  He  told  me  this 
in  repl}'  to  my  questions.  Helen  said  nothing ;  but  I 
feel  that  I  ought  to  know  how  matters  stand,  so  I  ask 
you  what  did  she  overhear?  " 

"  She  overheard  me  tell  Mr.  Rathborne  that  I  re- 
jected and  desi>ised  the  love  that  he  ventured  to  offer 
me,"  replied  Marion,  speaking  in  her  clearest  and 
most  distinct  tone. 

A  quick  contraction  of  the  brow  showed  how  much 
the  answer  pained,  if  it  did  not  surprise,  Mrs.  Dal- 
ton. "My  poor  child!  "  she  said,  as  if  to  herself. 
Then  she  looked  at  Marion  with  something  like  a  flash 
in  her  usually  gentle  eyes.  "  And  do  you  hold  your- 
self guiltless  in  this  matter?  "  she  asked.  "If  Paul 
Rathborne  is  a  traitor  to  Helen — as  he  surely  is, — 
have  not  you  encouraged  his  admiration?     Does  not 

8 


114  FAIRY   GOLD. 

your  conscience  tell  you  that  you  Lave  sacrificed  her 
happiness  for  the  gratification  of  your  vanity?  " 

"No,"  replied  Mai'ion  ;  "my  conscience  tells  me 
nothing  of  the  kind.  How  could  I  prevent  Mr.  Rath- 
borne's  folly?  But,  of  course,  I  expected  to  be 
blamed  for  it,"  she  added,  bitterly.  "  That  is  the 
justice  of  the  world." 

"  God  foi'give  me  if  I  am  unjust !  "  said  Mrs.  Dalton. 
"I  did  not  mean  to  be.  But,  Marion,  this  is  not 
altogether  a  surprise  to  me.  I  have  seen  his  admi- 
ration for  you,  and  I  have  seen  —  I  could  not  help 
seeing  —  that  3'ou  did  not  discourage  it." 

"  Why  should  I  have  discouraged  it?"  asked  Ma- 
rion. "  I  saw  no  harm  in  it.  I  could  not  imagine  that 
because  he  found  some  things  to  like  —  to  admire,  if  you 
will  —  in  me,  he  would  become  a  traitor  to  Helen.  It 
is  a-^king  too  much  to  demand  that  one  tarn  one's 
back  on  a  man  because  he  is  a  shade  more  than  civil." 

Mrs.  Dalton  shook  her  head.  "  Those  are  merely 
words,"  she  said.  "  They  do  not  deceive  yourself  any 
more  than  they  deceive  me.  You  know  that  you  have 
used  this  man's  admiration  as  fuel  for  3'our  vanit}-, 
and  that  so  cautious  and  so  selfish  a  man  would  never 
have  acted  as  he  has  done  if  he  had  not  felt  himself 
encouraged.  Do  not  misunderstand  me,"  she  added, 
more  hastily.  "  For  Helen's  sake  I  am  not  sorry 
that  this  has  happened.  It  is  better  for  her,  even  at  the 
cost  of  great  present  suffering,  that  her  eyes  should 
be  opened  to  his  true  character.  But  you,  Marion  — 
how  can  you  forgive  yourself  for  the  part  you  have 
played  ?  And  what  is  to  become  of  you  if  you  do  not 
check  the  vanity  which  has  led  you  to  betray  the  trust 
and  wring  the  heart  of  your  best  friend.?  " 


FAIEY    GOLD.  115 

The  quiet,  penetrating  words  —  gentle  altliough  so 
grave  —  seemed  to  Marion  at  that  moment  like  a 
sentence  from  which  thei'e  was  no  appeal.  Her 
conscience  echoed  it,  her  eyes  fell,  for  an  instant  it 
looked  as  if  she  had  nothing  to  reply.  But  she  rallied 
quickly. 

"  I  am  sorry  if  you  think  I  have  wilfully  done  an}-- 
thing  to  pain  Helen,"  she  said,  coldly.  "  It  does  not 
strike  me  that  I  could  have  averted  this,  unless  I  had 
been  gifted  with  a  foreknowledge  which  I  do  not 
possess.  I  could  never  have  imagined  that  Mr.  Rath- 
borne  would  be  so  false  with  regard  to  Helen,  and  so 
presumptuous  with  regard  to  me." 

The  haughtiness  of  the  last  words  was  not  lost  on  the 
ear  of  the  listener,  who  looked  at  the  beautiful,  scorn- 
ful face  with  a  mingling  of  pity  and.  indignation 

"  You  expected,"  she  said,  "  to  encourage  a  man's 
admiration  up  to  a  certain  point,  and  yet  to  restrain 
his  presumption .?  A  little  more  knowledge  of  human 
nature  would  have  told  you  that  was  impossible ;  a 
little  more  feeling  would  have  kept  j'ou  from  desiring, 
it."  She  paused  a  moment,  then  went  on,  with  the 
same  restrained  gravitj'^ :  "I  am  sorrj'  if  I  seem  to  you 
harsh,  but  nothing  in  this  affair  is  worse  to  me  than 
the  revelation  it  makes  of  your  character.  I  am 
grieved  by  Helen's  suffering,  and  shocked  by  Paul 
Rathborne's  treachery;  but  for  the  first  I  have  the 
comfort  that  it  may  in  the  end  spare  her  worse  suffer- 
ing, and  for  the  second  I  feel  that  it  is  not  a  surprise  — 
that  I  never  wholly  trusted  his  sincerity.  But  you, 
Marion  —  what  can  I  think  of  you,  who,  without  any 
stronger  feeling  than  vanity  to  lead  you  on,  have  trifled 
with  your  own  sense  of  honor,  as  well  as  with  the  deep- 


IJG  FAILT    Gold. 

est  feel.ngs  of  others?  'What  will  your  future  be  if 
you  do  not  change  —  if  you  do  not  try  to  think  less  of 
unworthy  objects  and  more  of  wort  hy  ones  —  less  of 
gaining  admiration  and  more  of  keeping  your  con- 
science clear  and  your  heart  clean?  " 

"What  will  my  future  be!"  repeated  Marion. 
She  rose  as  she  spoke,  and  answered,  proudly:  "  That 
concerns  myself  alone.  I  have  no  fear  of  it ;  I  feel 
that  I  can  make  it  what  I  will,  and  I  shall  certainly 
not  will  to  make  it  anything  unworthy\  But  it 
need  not  trouble  you  in  the  least.  I  am  sorry  that 
my  coming  here  should  have  brought  any  trouble  on 
Helen.  The  only  amend  I  can  make  is  to  go  awa}^  at 
once,  and  that  I  will  do." 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Dalton,  quickly;  "that  cannot 
mend  matters  now,  and  would  only  throw  a  very 
serious  reflection  upon  you  when  it  is  known  that 
Helen's  engagement  is  at  an  end.  I  cannot  consent 
to  it." 

"  But  Helen's  engagement  might  not  be  at  an  end 
if  I  went  away,"  responded  Marion. 

"You  do  not  know  Helen  yet,"  said  Mrs.  Dalton, 
quietly.  "  I  have  not  spoken  to  her  on  Ihe  subject, 
but  I  am  certain  what  her  decision  will  be." 

Marion  herself  was  by  no  means  certain  that  Mrs. 
Dalton's  judgment  was  correct.  She  thought  Helen 
weak  and  yielding  to  the  last  degree,  and  believed 
that  very  little  entreaty  would  be  requisite  on  Ealh- 
borne's  part  to  induce  her  to  forgive  him.  "It  will 
be  only  necessary  for  him  to  throw  all  the  blame  on 
me,  '  she  thought,  with  a  bitter  smile,  as  she  went  to 
her  chamber.  Nevertheless,  it  was  not  a  xevy  tranquil 
night  that  she  passed.     "Whatever  change  the  future 


FAinr    GOLD.  117 

might  bring,  she  knew  that  Helen  was  suffering  now  — 
suffering  the  keen  pangs  wliicLi  a  loving,  trusting 
heart  feels  when  its  love  and  trust  have  been  betraj^ecl. 
"It  is  hard  on  her,  she  is  so  good,  so  kind,  so  inca- 
pable herself  of  bel raying  any  one  !  "  thought  the  girl, 
whose  conscience  was  still  in  a  very  dormant  state, 
but  whose  sense  of  pity  was  touched.  "  How  sorry 
Cla're  would  be  if  she  knew!"  And  then  came  the 
reflection,  "What  would  Claire  think  of  me?"  fol- 
lowed by  the  quick  replj',  "  She  would  be  as  unjust  as 
the  rest,  and  call  it  my  fault,  no  doubt." 

The  thought  of  Claire's  judgment,  however,  was 
another  sting  added  to  those  which  already  disturbed 
her;  and  it  was  not  strange  that  she  tossed  on  her 
pillow  during  the  better  part  of  the  night,  only  falling 
asleep  toward  morning.  As  is  usually  the  case  after 
a  wakeful  night,  her  sleep  was  heavy,  so  that  the  first 
sound  that  roused  her  was  the  breakfast  bell.  She 
opened  her  e^'es  with  a  start,  and  to  her  surprise  saw 
Helen  standing  beside  her. 

The  memory  of  all  that  had  happened  flasiied  like 
lightning  into  her  mind  ;  and,  unable  to  reconci.e  that 
memory  with  this  appearance,  slie  could  only  gasp, 
"  Helen  !  —  what  are  you  doing  here?  " 

"  1  knocked  at  the  door,  but  3  ou  did  not  answer,  so 
I  came  in,"  Helen  responded,  simply.  "It  is  late, 
else  I  should  not  have  disturbed  you.  But  I  wanted 
to  speak  to  3'ou  before  }ou  went  down." 

"  Yes,"  said  Marion.  She  sat  up  in  bed,  with  white 
draperies  all  about  her,  and  looked  at  her  cousin. 
She  expected  a  demand  for  explanation,  perhaps  re- 
proaches, but  she  did  not  expect  what  came. 

"I    only  want  to  tell  }ou,"   said  Helen,  with  the 


118  FAinr   GOLD. 

same  quiet  simplicity,  "  that  I  have  no  reason  to 
blame  you  for  —  what  occurred  yesterday.  It  was 
not  your  fault :  you  could  not  have  helped  it.  I 
don't  know  that  any  one  is  to  blame  ver}'  much," 
she  added,  with  a  sigh;  "  but  I  felt  that  I  ought  to 
tell  you  that  I  do  not  blame  you  at  all." 

"Helen!  "  cried  Marion.  All  her  proud  self-con- 
trol suddenly  gave  way,  and  she  burst  into  tears. 
The  generosity  which  underlay  the  erring  surface  of 
her  nature  was  touched  to  the  quick,  and  her  con- 
science spoke  as  it  had  never  spoken  before. 
"  Helen,  you  are  too  good,"  she  said.  "  You  judge 
me  too  kindly.  I  do  not  feel  myself  that  I  am  not  to 
blame.  On  the  contrary,  I  have  no  doubt  my  aunt 
is  perfectly  right,  and  that  I  am  very  much  to  blame. 
I  let  my  vanity  and  my  love  of  admiration  carry  me 
too  far,  but  never  with  the  intention  of  injuring  3'ou 
or  betraying  your  trust  —  never!  " 

"I  am  sure  of  that,"  said  Helen,  gently.  She 
laid  her  hand  on  the  bent  head  of  the  other.  It 
startled  her  to  see  Marion  display  such  feeling  and 
such  humility  as  this.  "  Mamma  was  thinking  of 
me,"  she  went  on  ;  "  else  she  would  not  have  blamed 
3'ou ;  for  how  could  you  help  being  more  attractive 
than  I  am?  If  I  was  unreasonable  enough  to  think 
for  a  little  time  last  night  that  you  were  to  blame,  I 
know  better  now.  God  has  given  me  strength  to 
look  at  things  more  calmly.  I  can  even  see  that  he 
may  not  be  greatly  in  fault.  No  doubt  he  thought 
he  loved  me  —  until  he  saw  you. ' ' 

"Helen,  he  is  not  worthy  of  you!"  cried  Marion, 
passionately.     "  He  loves  no  one  but  himself." 

Helen   shook  her   head.     "Surely  he  loves  you," 


FAIBY   GOLD.  119 

she  said;  "  else  why  should  he  tell  30U  so?  But  we 
need  not  discuss  this.  Will  you  come  down  when 
you  are  ready  ? ' ' 

"Oh!  yes,"  said  Marion,  with  an  effort ;  "  I  will 
be  down  very  soon." 

She  rose  as  Helen  left  the  room,  and  dressed  veiy 
hastily,  a  prey  the  while  to  many  conflicting  emotions. 
Relief  was  mingled  with  self-reproach,  and  admiration 
of  Helen's  generosity  with  scorn  of  her  weakness. 
"For,  of  course,  her  excuses  for  him  mean  that  she 
will  forgive  him!  "  she  thought.  "  I  have  heard  that 
women  —  most  women ^ — -are  fools  in  just  that  way, 
and  Helen  is  exactly  the  kind  of  woman  to  be  guilt}'^ 
of  that  fo'ly.  The  miserable  dastard!"  —  she  re- 
membered his  threat  to  herself  —  "I  wish  1  could 
punish  him  as  he  deserves  for  his  treachery  and  pre- 
sumption !  " 

It  did  not  occur  to  her  to  ask  whether  or  not  she 
deserved  any  punishment  for  the  share  she  confessed 
to  having  borne  in  the  treachery.  Had  the  idea  been 
suggested  to  her,  she  would  have  said  that  her  share 
was  infinitesimal  compared  with  his,  and  that  she  had 
already  been  punished  by  the  insolence  she  had  drawn 
upon  herself. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

BUT  Helen's  quietness  did  not  deceive  her 
mother,  whose  heart  aclied  as  she  saw  in  the 

pale  young  face  all  the  woful  change  wrought 
by  one  night  of  suffering,  one  sharp  touch  of  anguish. 
Yet,  if  she  had  only  known  it,  the  girl  brought  back 
into  the  house  a  very  different  face  from  that  which 
she  had  taken  out  in  the  early  morning,  wlien,  driven 
by  an  intolerable  sense  of  pain,  she  had  gone  in 
search  of  strength  to  bear  it.  There  was  but  one 
l^lace  where  such  strength  was  to  be  found,  and 
thither  her  feet  had  carried  her  direct.  She  was  the 
first  person  to  enter  the  little  church  when  it  was 
opened  to  the  freshness  of  the  summer  morning ;  and 
long  after  the  Holy  Sacrifice  was  over  she  had  still 
knelt,  absorbed  and  motionless,  before  the  altar. 
Everyone  went  away:  she  was  left  alone  with  the 
Presence  in  the  tabernacle ;  and  in  the  stillness,  the 
absolute  quiet,  a  Voice  seemed  speaking  to  her  aching 
heart,  and  bringing  comfort  to  her  troubled  soul. 
When  at  length,  warned  of  the  passage  of  time  by  the 
striking  of  a  distant  clock,  she  lifted  her  face  from 
her  elapsed  hands,  even  amid  the  stains  of  tears  there 
were  signs  of  peace.  The  sting  of  bitterness  had 
bfen  taken   out  of  her  grief ;  and,  that   being  so,  it 

(120) 


FAIBY    GOLD.  121 

had  become  enduiable.  She  might  and  wouki  suffer 
still;  but  when  she  Ltid  once  brought  bersolf  to  resign 
this  suffeiing  into  the  hands  of  God,  and  with  the 
docility  of  a  child  accept  what  it  pleased  Him  to 
permit,  the  worst  was  over. 

The  first  result  of  the  struggle  she  h:id  made  and 
the  victory  she  had  gained  was  apparent  when,  on  her 
return  home,  she  went  to  Marion's  room.  The  gen- 
erous heart  could  not  rest  without  clearing  itself  at 
once  of  the  least  shadow  of  injustice,  —  and  she  had 
implied,  if  she  had  not  expressed,  a  blame  of  Marion 
which  she  was  noble  enough  to  feel  might  be  unjust. 
Hence  that  visit  which  so  deeply  touched  the  girl, 
whose  own  conscience  failed  to  echo  Helen's  acquittal. 

Breakfast  passed  very  quietly.  Mrs.  Dalton  saw 
that  her  daughter  was  making  an  heroic  effort  to  ap- 
pear as  usual,  and  she  seconded  it  as  far  as  lay  in 
her  power,  talking  more  than  was  her  custom  in  order 
to  allow  Helen  to  be  silent,  and  to  prevent  the  bo3's 
from  asking  questions  about  events  of  the  i)receding 
afternoon.  To  make  no  change  in  her  manner  to 
Marion  was  more  difficult ;  but,  with  the  example  that 
Helen  set,  she  was  able  to  accomplish  ftven  this  ;  and 
finally  the  usual  separation  for  the  morning  took  place 
with  great  sense  of  relief  to  all  concerned.  Marion 
put  on  her  hat  and  went  out,  ostensibly  to  keep  an 
appointment  with  Mrs.  Singleton,  but  really  to  be 
safely  out  of  the  way  in  case  Eathborne  should  make 
his  appearance. 

Helen  herself  had  some  fear  of  this  appearance,  and 
she  took  refuge  in  her  own  chamber,  dreading  the 
necessary  explanation  to  her  mother,  not  so  much  on 
her  own  account  as  on  account  of  the  judgment  upon 


122  FAIEY    GOLD. 

Eathborne  which  she  knew  would  follow.  Tenderness 
does  not  die  in  an  hour  or  a  day ;  and  although  her 
resolve  to  put  him  out  of  her  life  was  firm,  she  was  not 
yet  able  to  put  him  out  of  her  heart,  nor  to  think 
without  shrinking  of  the  severe  condemnation  which 
her  mother  would  mete  out  to  him.  There  was  no 
need  for  haste  in  speaking ;  she  might  rest  a  little,  and 
gather  strength  for  the  trial,  knowing  that  Mrs. 
Dalton  would  make  no  effort  to  force  her  confidence. 
,  So  she  was  resting  on  the  bed,  where  she  had  not 
slept  at  all  the  night  before,  when  the  door  softly 
opened  and   Mrs.  Dalton  entered  the  room. 

''  Helen,"  she  said,  gently,  "  I  am  sorry  to  disturb 
you,  but  Paul  Rathborne  is  downstairs  and  asks  to 
see  you.     What  shall  I  tell  iiim?  " 

"  Tell  him  that  I  cannot  see  him,"  answered  Helen. 
"It  is  impossible!  You  must  speak  forme — you 
must  make  him  understand  that  he  is  entirely  free 
from  any  engagement  to  me,  and  I  do  not  blame  him 
for  what  he  could  not  help.  I  suppose  you  have 
guessed  that  something  is  the  matter,"  she  added, 
wistfully.  "  It  is  only  that  I  have  found  out  he  cares 
for  Marion  —  not  for  me." 

Mrs.  Dalton  put  her  arm  around  her  with  a  touch 
full  of  sympathy,  without  speaking  for  a  moment. 
Then  she  said :  "  My  child,  I  always  knew  he  was  not 
worthy  of  you." 

"  But  this  does  not  prove  him  unworthy  of  me," 
replied  Helen,  in  a  tone  sharp  with  pain.  "  It  only 
proves  that  he  was  mistaken  when  he  thought  of 
me." 

"  Men  of  honor  do  not  make  such  mistakes,"  said 
Mrs.  Dalton. 


FAIEY    GOLD.  123 

"  How  could  he  help  falling  in  love  with  Marion?" 
continued  Helen,  "  She  is  so  much  more  beautiful, 
so  much  more  attractive  than  I  am !  And  that  be  has 
done  so,  settles  the  doubt  of  his  disinterestedness 
which  you  always  entertained.  Do  liim  so  much 
justice,  mamma.  You  feared  that  he  professed  to 
care  for  me  because  I  have  a  little  money.  But  Marion 
has  none." 

"  We  need  not  discuss  that,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs. 
Dalton,  who  was  touched  but  not  convinced  by  this 
generous  plea.  "It  is  enough  if,  satisfied  that  his 
affections  have  wandered,  you  are  determined  to  dis- 
miss him." 

"Yes,"  said  Helen,  "  I  am  determined  on  that. 
But  I  cannot  see  him.  You  must  go  to  him,  and  tell 
him  from  me  that  I  do  not  blame  him,  but  that  all  is 
at  an  end  between  us." 

With  this  message  Mrs.  Dalton  went  downstairs. 
Her  own  mood  with  Rathborne  was  far  from  being  as 
charitable  as  her  daughter's;  and  her  face,  usually  set 
in  very  gentle  lines,  hardened  to  sternness  as  she  de- 
scended. She  was  not  inclined  to  deal  leniently  with 
one  who  had  so  shamefull}'  betrayed  the  trust  placed 
in  him,  and  had  overshadowed  so  darkly  the  sunshine 
of  Helen's  life.  Like  some  other  parents,  she  had  up  to 
this  time  imagined  that  the  stern  conditions  of  human 
existence  were  to  be  relaxed  for  Helen,  and  that  one 
so  formed  for  happiness  was  to  be  granted  that  happi- 
ness in  a  measure  which  is  allowed  to  few.  A  sense 
of  keen  injury  was,  therefore,  added  to  her  indig- 
nation at  a  treachery  for  which  she  could  find  no 
palliation. 

Rathborne,  who  was  anxiously  expecting  yet  dread- 


l-2i  FAIBY    GOLD. 

iiiL^  to  see  Helen,  drew  his  breath  with  a  sharp  sense 
of  vexation  when  his  aunt  entered.  'J  his  was  worse 
than  he  had  feared.  Calculating  upon  Helen's  gentle- 
ness, he  had  not  thought  that  she  would  refuse  to  see 
him;  and  if  she  saw  him,  he  believed  that  his  influ- 
ence would  be  strong  enough  to  induce  her  to  overlook 
anything.  But  when  Mrs.  Dalton  entered,  he  knew 
that  the  consequences  of  his  treachery  were  to  be  fully 
paid.  A  cold  greeting  was  exchanged  between  them, 
and  then  a  short  silence  followed,  as  each  hesitated  to 
speak.  It  was  Mrs.  Dalton  who  broke  it,  as  soon  as 
she  felt  able  to  control  her  voice. 

"I  have  told  Helen  that  you  are  here,"  she  said, 
"but  she  declines  to  see  you.  It  is  not  necessary,  1 
presume,  to  explain  why  she  declines.  Of  that  you 
are  fully  aware.  It  is  not  necessary,  either,  that  I 
should  add  anything  to  her  own  words,  which  are, 
Iniefly,  that  you  will  consider  everything  at  an  end 
between  you.  She  added  also  that  she  does  not  blame 
you  for  anything  that  has  occurred  —  but  I  hardly 
think  that  your  own  conscience  will  echo  that  " 

"  No,"  said  Rathborne,  who  had  paled  perceptibly, 
"  my  own  conscience  does  not  echo  it.  On  the  con- 
trar}',  I  feel  that  I  am  deeply  to  blame  ;  yet  I  hoped 
that  Helen  might  believe  me  when  I  say  that  I  am  not 
so  much  to  blame  as  appears  on  the  surface.  A  man 
may  be  tempted  beyond  his  strength,  and  some  women 
are  experts  in  such  temptations." 

Mrs.  Dalton  looked  at  him  with  scorn  in  her  eyes. 
"If  3'ou  think,"  she  said,  "  that  you  will  serve  jour 
cause  with  Helen  by  such  cowardly  insinuations  as 
that,  you  are  mistaken.  And,  as  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned, you    have   only  taken    a   step   lower   in   my 


FAIEY   GOLD.  125 

esteem.  But  that  is  a  point  which  does  not  matter. 
Wherever  the  blame  rests,  the  fact  remains  that  if 
Helen  did  not  take  the  decision  of  the  matter  into  her 
hands, /should  do  so.  You  have  proved  yourself  a 
man  whom  it  is  impossible  I  can  ever  consent  to  trust 
•with  my  daughter's  life  and  happiness." 

Eathborne  rose  to  his  feet.  The  decisive  words 
seemed  to  leave  him  no  alternative.  He  felt  that  he 
had  committed  a  blunder  which  was  altoafetber  irre- 
trievable  ;  and  combined  with  the  keen  mortification  of 
failure  was  a  hatred,  which  gathered  bitterness  with 
every  moment,  against  the  woman  he  believed  to  have 
led  him  on  and  deceived  him. 

"  In  that  ease,"  he  said,  "  there  is  nothing  for  me 
to  do  but  to  go.  I  had  hoped  that  Helen  might  un- 
derstand —  that  she  would  not  let  a  moment  of  folly 
outweigh  the  devotion  of  years  ;  but  if  she  judges  me 
as  hardly  as  you  seem  to  imply,  I  see  that  my  hope 
is  vain.  Tell  her  from  me  that  if  she  knew  the  whole 
truth  sbe  would  regard  the  matter  in  a  different  light. 
But  if  she  does  not  wish  to  know  the  truth  —  if  she 
prefers  to  judge  me  unheard, —  I  can  only  submit." 

"It  is  best  she  should  not  see  you,"  said  Mrs. 
Dalton,  who  was  glad  that  Helen  herself  had  decided 
this  point.  "  Even  if  you  persuaded  her  to  trust  you 
again,  I  could  not  give  my  consent  to  the  renewal 
of  an  engagement  which  has  been  ended  in  this 
manner." 

"  You  have  alwa3-s  distrusted  me,"  said  R  .thborne, 
bitterly. 

"  No,"  she  replied,  gravely;  "  so  far  from  ihat,  I 
trusted  you  as  my  own  son,  though  I  did  not  think 
you  were  the  persou  to  make  Helen  happy.     I  had 


1-2G  FAIBY    GOLD. 

always  a  fear  that  you  did  not  care  for  her  enough, 
and  now  I  am  forced  to  believe  that  you  did  not  care 
for  her  at  all.  If  you  had  done  so,  this  could  never 
have  happened,  just  as  it  could  never  have  happened 
if  you  had  possessed  the  right  principle  and  the  sense 
of  honor  which  I  should  certainly  wish  my  daughter's 
husband  to  possess." 

Rathborne  could  hardly  believe  the  evidence  of  his 
ears  as  he  listened  to  these  severe,  incisive  words.  He 
had  always  regarded  Mrs.  Dalton  as  a  person  who  was 
mild  to  weakness,  and  whom,  whenever  it  suited  him, 
he  could  influence  in  whatever  manner  desired.  He 
therefore  scarcely  recognized  this  woman,  with  her 
sentence  of  condemnation  based  on  premises  which  he 
could  not  deny,  though  he  made  a  faint  attempt  to 
do  so. 

"You  do  not  understand,"  he  said,  "  how  a  brief 
infatuation  —  a  delirium  of  fancy —  can  attack  a  man 
let  his  sense  of  honor  be  what  it  may.     As  for  my 
attachment   to  Helen,    that   is   something    which  has 
lasted  too  long  to  be  doubted  now." 

"  Will  you  inform  me,  then,  how  you  proposed  to 
reconcile  it  with  your  declaration  to  Marion?  " 

"That  was  drawn  from  me  —  forced  from  me!  " 
he  exclaimed.  "It  was  a  madness  of  the  moment, 
into  wliich  I  was  led  by  her  art." 

Mrs.  Dalton  rose  now,  a  bright  spot  of  color  on  each 
check.  "  That  is  enough !  "  she  said.  "  I  can  listen 
to  nothing  more.  No  man  of  honor  would,  for  his 
own  sake,  utter  such  words  as  those  —  even  if  they 
wire  true,  and  I  am  sure  they  are  not.  Great  as  my 
niece's  faults  may  be,  she  is  incapable  of  such  conduct 
as  you  charge  her  with.     Go,  Paul  Rathborne !     By 


FAIEY    GOLD.  127 

such  excuses  you  only  prove  more  and  more  how 
unworthy  you  are  of  Helen's  affection  or  Helen's 
trust." 

"  Very  well,"  he  answered,  his  face  white  and  bitter 
with  anger.  "  As  you  and  she  have  decided,  so  be  it. 
But  take  care  that  the  day  does  not  come  when  you 
will  deeply  regret  this  decision." 

Then  he  turned,  and,  without  giving  her  time  to 
reply  had  she  been  so  inclined,  left  the  room. 

Mrs.  Dalton  looked  after  him  with  a  heavy  sigh. 
Regret  her  decision  she  knew  that  she  would  not ;  but 
it  would  be  vain  to  saj'^  that  she  did  not  regret  the 
necessity  for  it,  that  she  did  not  think  with  a  keen 
pang  of  Helen's  suffering,  and  that  she  did  not  feel, 
with  much  bitterness,  that  Marion  had  not  been  guilt- 
less in  the  matter.  Yet  even  in  the  midst  of  her 
indignation  she  had  pity  for  the  girl,  whose  vanit}'' 
and  ambition  were  likely  to  wreck  her  life,  as  they 
had  already  gone  far  to  alienate  her  best  friends. 

Meanwhile  Marion  could  not  disguise  the  fact  that 
she  was  not  in  her  usual  spirits  —  for  the  thought  of 
Helen  weighed  heavily  upon  her, —  and  Mrs.  Single- 
ton, observing  this,  drew  at  once  her  own  conclu- 
sions. 

"  I  am  afraid  the  gypsy  tea  was  not  altogether  a 
success,  so  far  as  you  were  concerned  or  your  cousin 
either,"  she  said.  "  I  heard  that  she  went  home  with 
Frank  Morley  instead  of  with  her  Jlance.  I  will  not 
ask  any  indiscreet  questions,  but  I  suspect  that  your 
attractions  have  drawn  Mr.  Rathborne  from  his 
allegiance.  It  is  what  I  have  anticipated  for  some 
time.  " 

Marion  frowned  a  little,  annoyed  by  this  freedom, 


128  -  FAIRY   GOLD. 

which,  however,  she  felt  that  she  had  drawn  upon  her- 
self, and  had  no  right  to  resent.  But  she  evaded  the 
implied  question. 

"  Helen  was  not  feeling  well,  and  so  she  made  her 
cousin  take  her  home  before  we  were  ready  to  start," 
she  said.  "I  am  not  particularly  partial  to  Miss 
Morley's  society,  or  Mr.  Rathborne's  either,  and 
thought  I  would  accept  the  seat  you  offered  me.  That 
was  the  whole  matter." 

"  I  am  delighted  to  hear  it,"  said  Mrs.  Singleton, 
not  deceived  in  the  least.  "I  was  afraid  there  had 
been  a  lover's  quarrel,  and  that  perhaps  you  were  the 
innocent  cause  of  it.  That  is  always  such  an  awkward 
position.  I  have  occupied  it  myself  once  or  twice,  so 
I  speak  from  knowledge." 

"I  am  sure  that  if  you  occupied  it,  it  must  have 
been  innocently,"  said  Marion,  with  malice.  "  But 
we  need  not  discuss  what  is  not,  I  trust,  likely  to 
occur,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned.  How  is  Mr.  Single- 
ton this  morning?  " 

"Not  well  at  all.  This  is  one  of  his  bad  days. 
And  it  is  one  of  mine,  too,"  she  added,  with  a  slight 
grimace;  "for  I  have  just  heard  that  Brian  Earle  is 
coming." 

"  And  who  is  Brian  Earle?  " 

"  Surely  you  have  heard  ray  uncle  talk  of  him?  At 
least,  it  is  most  astonishing  if  you  have  not ;  for  he 
likes  him  better  than  any  one  else  in  the  world,  I 
think ;  although  they  don't  agree  very  well.  I  have 
no  fancy  for  Brian  myself :  I  find  him  entirely  too 
much  of  a  prig ;  but  I  will  say  that  he  might  twist  the 
old  man  around  his  finger  if  he  would  only  yield  a 
little  more  to  his  wishes  and  opinions.     It  is  a  lucky 


FAIRY   GOLD.  129 

thing  for  us  that  he  will  not,  but  it  does  not  make  his 
folly  less.  Fancy !  Mr.  Singleton  asked  him  to  live 
with  him,  look  after  his  business,  and  generally  devote 
himself  to  him  during  his  life,  with  the  promise  of 
making  him  his  sole  heir,  and  he  refused!  Can  you 
believe  that?" 

"I  must  believe  it  if  you  are  sure  of  it,"  refDlied 
Marion,  smiling  at  the  energy  of  the  other.  "  But 
why  did  he  refuse?  " 

Mrs.  Singleton  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  Because 
he  was  not  willing  to  give  up  control  of  his  own  life, 
and  spend  the  best  years  of  his  youth  in  idleness,  wait- 
ing for  an  old  man  to  die.  That  is  what  he  said.  As 
if  he  would  not  gain  by  that  waiting  more  than  his 
wretched  art  would  bring  him  if  he  toiled  at  it  all 
his  life!" 

' '  His  art  —  what  is  he  ?  " 

"Oh!  a  painter  —  or  an  attempt  at  one.  Are  such 
people  always  visionary  and  impracticable?  I  judge 
so  from  what  I  have  read  of  them,  and  from  my 
knowledge  of  him.  It  is  true  that  his  folly  serves  our 
interest  very  well ;  for  if  he  had  agreed  to  what  his 
uncle  piioposed,  we  should  have  no  chance  of  inherit- 
ing anything ;  but,  nevertheless,  one  has  a  contempt 
for  a  man  with  so  little  sense." 

"  I  think  you  should  have  the  highest  regard  for 
him  in  this  instance,  since  he  is  serving  your  interest 
so  well.     But  why  is  he  coming?  " 

"  To  see  his  uncle  before  going  abroad  again.  Mr. 
Singleton  has  a  strong  attachment  for  him,  notwith- 
standing the  way  he  has  acted ;  and  I  should  not  be 
surprised  if  he  made  him  his  heir,  after  all.  So  you 
see  there  is   no  reason  why  I  should  be  overjoyed  at 

9 


130  FAIRY   GOLD. 

his  visit,  especially  since  he  is  not  at  all  an  agreeable 
person,  as  }ou  will  see." 

"  I  may  not  see,"  said  Marion  ;  "  for  I  do  not  think 
I  shall  be  in  Scarborough  much  longer." 

"You  are  going  away?"  said  Mrs.  Singleton,  with 
a  quick  flash  of  comprehension  in  her  eyes. 

"In  a  few  days  probably,"  was  the  reply.  "I 
promised  to  spend  only  a  month  with  Helen,  and  I 
have  been  here  now  six  weeks." 

"  But  I  thought  you  were  good  for  the  season," 
said  Mrs.  Singleton  ;  while  her  inward  comment  was : 
"  So  matters  are  just  as  I  thought!  " 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

RETICENCE  was  not  Mrs.  Singleton's  distin- 
guishing ctiaracteristic.  It  was  not  very  long, 
therefore,  before  she  mentioned  her  suspicions 
about  Marion  both  to  her  husband  and  her  uncle. 
The  first  laughed,  and  remarked  that  it  was  only  what 
he  had  expected ;  the  latter  looked  grave,  and  said : 
"In  that  case  it  will  not  be  pleasant  for  her  to  remain 
in  her  aunt's  house." 

"  So  far  from  it,"  was  the  careless  reply,  "  that  she 
is  speaking  of  leaving  Scarborough." 

Mr.  Singleton  glanced  up  sharply.  "  That  would 
be  very  undesirable,"  he  said.  "  Her  singing  is  a 
great  pleasure  to  me  ;  for  the  matter  of  that,  so  is  her 
society.     Ask  her  to  come  and  stay  with  you." 

Mrs.  Singleton  lifted  her  eyebrows.  This  was  far 
from  what  she  anticipated  or  desired.  There  had 
been  a  little  malicious  pleasure  in  her  announcement, 
but  she  would  certainly  have  refrained  from  making  it 
had  she  feared  such  a  result  as  this.  She  was  so 
vexed  that  for  a  moment  she  could  scai-cely  speak. 
Then  she  said:  "  You  are  veiy  idnd ;  but,  although  I 
like  Miss  Lynde,  I  do  not  care  enough  for  her  society 
to  ask  her  to  stay  with  me." 

"  I  never  imagined  for  an  instant  that  you  cared  for 
her  society,"  replied  Mr    Singleton,  coolly.     "  I  was 

(131) 


132  FAinr    GOLD. 

not  Ibinkiug  of  your  gratification,  bnt  of  my  own,  in 
desiring  you  to  nsk  her  tiere.  Of  course,  it  is  neces- 
sary that  she  shouM  be  nominal]}'  j-our  guest ;  although, 
as  we  are  aware,  really  mine." 

"  I  think,  then,  that  it  would  be  best  she  should  be 
nominally  as  well  as  really  yours,"  said  Mrs.  Single- 
ton, too  much  provoked  to  considfer  for  the  moment 
what  was  her  l^est  polic3\ 

Mr.  Singleton  looked  at  her  with  an  ominous  flash 
in  his  glance.  "  Very  well,"  he  answered,  deliber- 
ately. "That  is  just  as  you  please.  We  can  easily 
change  existing  arrangements.  I  will  speak  to  Tom 
about  it." 

But  this  intimation  at  once  brought  Mrs.  Singleton 
to  unconditional  surrender. 

"There  is  no  need  for  that,"  she  said,  hastily. 
"  Of  course  I  will  do  whatever  you  desire.  I  only 
thought  it  might  be  best  that  the  matter  should  be 
clearly  understood.  I  have  no  fancy  for  Miss  Lynde, 
nor  any  desire  for  her  companionship.  To  speak  the 
truth,  I  do  not  trust  her  at  all." 

Mr.  Singleton  shrugged  his  shoulders  —  a  gesture 
to  which  he  gave  an  expression  that  many  of  his 
friends  found  very  irritating.  It  said  plainly  at  pres- 
ent that  nothing  mattered  less  in  his  opinion  than 
whether  Mrs.  Singleton  trusted  Miss  Lynde  or  not. 

"  Let  us  keep  to  the  point,"  he  said,  quietly. 
"  What  your  sentiments  with  regard  to  the  young  lady 
may  be  I  do  not  inquire.  I  only  desire  you  to  ask  her 
to  come  here.  If  you  object  to  do  this  —  and  far  be  it 
from  me  to  place  any  constraint  upon  you,  —  I  must 
simply  make  an  arrangement  by  which  it  can  be  done. 
That  is  all." 


FAIBY    GOLD.  133 

"Why  should  I  object?"  asked  Mrs.  Singleton. 
"If  she  comes  as  your  guest,  it  is  certainly  not  my 
affair." 

"I  have  requested,  however,  that  you  ask  her  to 
come  as  your  guest.  Do  not  misunderstand  that 
point.  And  do  not  give  the  invitation  so  that  it  may 
be  declined.  I  should  consider  that  tantamount  to  not 
sivino;  it  at  all.  See  that  she  comes.  You  can  arrange 
it  if  5'ou  like." 

"With  this  intimation  the  conversation  ended,  and 
Mrs.  Singleton  had  no  comfort  but  to  tell  her  husband 
of  the  disagreeable  necessity  laid  upon  her.  "  I  am 
to  ask  Marion  Lynde  to  come  here  as  my  guest,  and 
I  am  to  see  that  she  comes !  Could  anything  be  more 
vexatious?  "  she  demanded.  "  I  am  so  provoked  that 
I  feel  inclined  to  leave  your  uncle  to  manage  his  own 
affairs,  and  to  get  somebody  else  to  invite  guests  for 
his  amusement." 

"  Nothing  would  be  easier  thau  for  him  to  do  so," 
said  Mr.  Singleton.  "  We  are  not  at  all  necessary  to 
him,  you  know.  And  why  on  earth  should  you  object 
to  asking  Miss  Lynde,  if  he  desires  it?  It  seems  to 
me  that  you  might  desire  it  yourself." 

"Oh!  it  seems  so  to  you,  does  it?"  asked  the 
lady,  sarcastically.  "  Because  she  has  a  pretty  face, 
I  presume.  It  does  not  occur  to  you  that  a  girl  who 
lias  drawn  her  cousin's  fiance  into  a  love  affair  with 
her  —  for  I  am  certain  that  is  what  has  occurred  — 
w^ould  betray  us  just  as  quickly,  and  use  her  influ- 
ence with  this  infatuated  old  man  to  any  end  that 
suited  her." 

Mr.  Singleton  looked  a  little  grave  at  this  view  of 
the  case.     "  Well,"  he  said,   "  that  may  be  so,  but 


134  FAIBY    GOLD. 

how   are  we   to  help  it?     Certain!}'    not   by  showing 
that  we  are  afraid  of  her." 

"I  might  liave  helped  it  by  letting  her  go  away 
without  telling  him  anything  about  it,"  said  the  lady. 
"And  I  wish  I  had!  " 

"  Useless!  "  said  her  philosophical  husband.  "  He 
would  have  found  it  out  for  himself.  Don't  worry 
over  the  matter.  Ask  her  here  with  a  good  grace, 
since  3'ou  have  no  altei'native,  and  trust  that  he  will 
tire  of  her  as  he  has  tired  of  everybody  else." 

That  this  was  good  advice  —  in  fact,  the  only  advice 
to  be  followed  —  Mrs.  Singleton  was  well  aware.  And 
she  proceeded  to  do  what  was  required  of  her,  with  as 
good  a  grace  as  she  could  command.  The  invitation 
surprised  Marion,  but  it  was  not  unwelcome,  as  cutting 
the  knot  of  her  difficulties.  For,  anxious  as  she  now 
was  to  leave  her  aunt's  house,  and  to  spare  herself  the 
silent,  unconscious  reproach  of  Helen's  pale  face,  she 
was  deeply  avei'se  to  returning  to  her  uncle's  home. 
She  had  registered  a  passionate  resolve  never  to 
return  there  if  she  could  avoid  it ;  but  she  had  begun 
to  fear  that  she  would  be  unable  to  avoid  doing  so, 
when  Mrs.  Singleton's  invitation  offered  her,  at  least, 
a  temporary  mode  of  escape.  She  received  it  gra- 
ciously, saying  that  she  -would  be  happy  to  accept  it 
whenever  her  aunt  and  cousin  would  consent  to  let 
her  go. 

"  Oh!  I  am  sure  they  will  be  averse  to  giving  you 
up,"  said  Mrs.  Singleton,  with  the  finest  sarcastic  in- 
tention. "  But  if  you  are  intending  to  leave  them  in 
any  event,  they  can  not  object  to  your  coming  to  me 
for  a  time." 

"They  will  certainly  not   object  to  that,"  reified 


FAIliY    GOLD. 


135 


Marion.  "The  question  is  only  tvhen  I  can  avail 
myself  of  your  Ivind  invitation." 

This  proved  to  be  quite  soon  ;  for  when  Mrs.  Daltou 
heard  of  the  invitation,  she  advised  Marion  to  set  an 
early  day  for  accepting  it.  "I  think  it  necessary," 
she  said,  "  to  take  Helen  away  for  change  of  air  and 
scene.  I  should  have  asked  you  to  accompany  us ; 
but,  under  the  circumstances,  the  arrangement  pro- 
posed by  Mrs.  Singleton  is  best.  I  am  sure  you  will 
understand  this." 

"I  understand  it  perfectly,"  said  Marion;  "and 
am  very  sorry  that  you  should  have  been  embarrassed 
b}'  any  thought  of  me." 

So  it  was  settled.  Helen  was  quite  passive,  ready 
to  do  whatever  was  desired  of  her  ;  but  the  spring  of 
happiness  seemed  broken  within  her  —  that  natural, 
spontaneous  happiness  which  had  appeared  as  much  a 
part  of  her  as  its  perfume  is  part  of  a  flower.  It  was 
"hard  for  Mrs.  Dalton  to  forgive  those  who,  between 
them,  had  wrought  this  change ;  although  she  knew 
that  it  was  well  for  her  daughter  to  be  saved,  at  any 
cost,  from  a  marriage  with  Rathborne. 

But  Rathborne  himself  was  naturally  not  of  this 
opinion  ;  and,  being  a  person  of  strong  tenacity  of  pur- 
pose, he  was  determined  not  to  give  up  his  cause  as 
lost  until  he  had  tested  his  influence  over  Helen.  The 
opi)ortunity  to  do  this  was  for  some  time  lacking.  He 
knew  that  it  would  be  useless  to  g^o  ag-ain  to  Mrs. 
Dalton's  house  and  ask  for  an  interview,  even  if  his 
pride  had  not  rendered  such  a  step  impossible.  He 
waited  for  some  chance  of  meeting  Helen  alone :  but 
she  shrank  from  going  out,  so  he  had  found  no  oppor- 
tunity, when   he    heard   of    her   intended    departure. 


136  FAIRY    GOLD. 

This  brought  him  to  see  the  necessity  of  vigorous 
measures,  and  consequently  he  appeared  the  next 
morning  at  the  Catholic  church,  having  learned  at  what 
hour  Mass  was  said. 

Entering  late  —  for  he  did  not  wish  to  be  observed 
more  thao  was  unavoidable, —  he  found  the  Mass  in 
progress,  and  about  half  a  dozen  persons  representing 
the  congregation.  His  glance  swept  rapidly  over 
these,  and  at  once  identified  Helen,  observing  with  a 
sense  of  relief  thas  she  was  alone.  Satisfied  on  this 
point,  he  dropped  into  a  seat  near  the  door  to  wait 
until  the  service  ended,  looking  on  meanwhile  with  a 
careless  attention  which  had  not  the  least  element  of 
comprehension.  To  him  it  was  an  absurd  and  unin- 
telligible rite,  which  he  did  not  even  make  the  faintest 
effort  to  understand. 

When  it  ended,  he  thought  that  his  waiting  would 
also  end  ;  but  to  his  irritated  surprise  he  found  that 
Helen's  devotions  were  by  no  means  over.  The  other 
members  of  the  congregation  left  the  church,  each  be- 
stowing a  curious  glance  on  him  in  passing ;  but  Helen 
knelt  on,  until  he  began  to  suspect  that  she  must  be 
aware  of  his  presence  and  was  endeavoring  to  avoid 
him.  The  thought  inspired  him  with  fresh  energy  and 
obstinacy.  "She  shall  not  escape  me.  I  will  stay 
here  until  noon,  if  necessary,"  he  said  to  himself  ;  wliile 
Helen,  entirely  unconscious  of  who  was  behind,  was 
sending  up  her  simple  petitions  for  submission  and 
patience  and  strength.  They  did  not  really  last  very 
long ;  and  when  she  rose,  Rathborne  rose  also  and 
stepped  into  the  vestibule  to  await  her. 

His  patience  had  no  further  trial  of  delay  there. 
Within  less  than  a   minute  the  door  leading  into  the 


FAIBY    GOLD.  137 

church  opened  and  Helen's  face  appeared.  At  the 
first  instant  of  appearing,  it  had  all  the  serenity  that 
comes  from  prayer ;  but  when  she  saw  him  standing 
before  her,  this  expression  changed  quickly  to  one  of 
distress.  With  something  like  a  gasp  she  said; 
"  Paul!  "  pausing  with  the  door  in  her  hand. 

Rathborne  stepped  forward,  with  his  own  hand- 
extended.  "  Forgive  me  for  startling  you,"  he  said  ; 
"  but  this  was  my  only  chance  to  see  you,  and  I  felt 
that  I  must  do  so." 

*'Why?"  asked  Helen.  She  closed  the  door,  but 
did  not  give  her  hand.  "There  is  no  reason,  that  I 
am  aware  of,  why  you  should  wish  to  see  me,"  she 
added,  in  a  voice  which  trembled  a  little.  "  Every- 
thing has  been  said  that  need  be  said  between  us." 

"  On  3'our  side,  perhaps  so,"  he  answered;  "  but 
not  on  mine.  I  have  said  nothing.  You  have  given 
me  no  opportunity  to  say  anything.  You  have  con- 
demned me  unheard." 

"Condemned  3'ou!  No,"  she  replied.  "I  have 
never  had  an}^  intention  or  desire  to  condemn  you. 
On  the  contrary,  I  said  from  the  first  that  I  did  not 
blame  you  for  what  was  probably  beyond  your  power 
to  control.  But  I  desired  that  all  might  be  ended 
between  us ;  and,  that  being  so,  tliere  is  nothing 
more  to  say  on  a  subject  that  is  —  that  must  be  — ■ 
painful  to  30U  as  well  as  to  nie." 

"  It  will  not  be  painful  if  I  can  induce  30U  to  listen 
to  me  and  to  believe  me,"  he  said.  "  That  is  what  I 
have  come  this  morning  to  beg  of  you  —  the  oi)por- 
tunity  to  set  mj-self  right.  Appoint  a  time  when  I  can 
come  and  find  you  alone,  or  meet  me  where  you  will. 
Only  give  me  the  opportunity  to  justify  myself  to  you.'" 


138  FAIHY   GOLD. 

He  spoke  with  an  earnest  pleading  which  was  by  no 
means  simulated,  for  he  never  lost  the  consciousness 
of  how  much  for  him  depended  upon  this ;  and  that 
the  pleading  had  an  effect  upon  Helen  was  evident  in 
her  growing  pallor,  in  the  look  of  pain  that  darkened 
her  eyes.  But  she  answered,  with  a  firmness  on 
which  he  had  not  reckoned:  — 

"You  should  not  ask  of  me  something  which  could 
not  serve  any  good  end.  No  explanation  can  alter 
facts,  and  I  would  rather  not  discuss  them.  What 
happened  was  very  natural.  No  one  knows  that 
better  than  I.     But  nothing  can  efface  it  now." 

"  Not  if  3-ou  heard  that  I  was  led  into  folly  by  every 
possible  art?"  he  demanded,  carried  beyond  self- 
control  b}^  the  unforeseen  difficulty  of  bending  one  who 
had  ahvaj's  before  seemed  so  pliant  to  his  influence. 
*'  Not  if  I  proved  to  you  that  your  cousin  — " 

Helen  lifted  her  hand  with  a  gesture  which  had  in  it 
something  of  a  command.  "Not  another  word  like 
that,"  she  said.  "  I  will  not  listen  to  it.  ]fwhatyoa 
imply  were  true,  how  would  it  help  matters?  A  man 
who  is  weak  enough  to  be  led  away  by  the  art  of 
another  is  as  little  to  be  trusted  as  the  man  who  delib- 
erately breaks  his  faith.  He  may  not  be  as  blam- 
able —  I  do  not  say  that, —  but  one  could  never  repose 
confidence  in  him  again.     That  is  over." 

"Helen!"  said  Eathborne.  He  was  amazed, 
almost  confounded,  by  a  dignity  of  manner  and  tone 
which  he  had  not  only  never  seen  in  Helen  before,  but 
of  whicli  he  would  not  have  believed  her  capable. 
He  did  not  reckon  on  the  judgment  and  strength  which 
earnest  prayer  had  brought,  nor  did  it  occur  to  him 
that   the   worst   place  he  could    have  chosen  for  the 


FAIEY    GOLD.  139 

exertion  of  his  influence  was  the  threshold  of  the 
church,  where  day  after  day  she  had  come  to  beg  for 
the  direction  that  in  such  a  crisis  would  surely  not 
be  denied  her.  "  I  hardly  know  you,"  he  went  on,  in 
the  lone  of  one  deeply  wounded.  "  How  changed 
you  are! — how  cold!  What  has  become  of  the 
sweet  and  gentle  Helen  I  have  known  and  loved?  " 

She  looked  at  him  with  the  first  reproach  that  had 
been  in  either  tone  or  glance.  ' '  The  Helen  you  knew  — 
who  trusted  j^ou  so  absolutely  and  loved  you  so  well  — 
is  dead,"  she  answered.  "There  is  no  need  that  we 
should  speak  of  her."  She  paused  for  an  instant,  and 
then,  with  her  voice  breaking  a  little,  went  on:  "I 
am  going  away —  I  may  not  see  you  again  in  a  long 
time.  Meanwhile  I  will  try,  with  the  help  of  God,  to 
forget  the  past,  and  I  beg  you  to  do  the  same  ;  for  it 
can  never  be  renewed.  And  if  3'ou  wish  to  spare  me 
pain,  you  will  never  speak  of  it  again." 

Had  Rathborne  uttered  what  was  in  his  mind,  he 
would  have  replied  that  whether  he  gave  her  pain  or 
not  was  a  matter  of  the  utmost  indifference  to  him, 
if  only  he  might  gain  his  desired  end.  A  sense  of 
powerless  exasperation  possessed  him,  the  greater  for 
his  disappointment.  He  had  been  so  certain  of  bend- 
ing Helen  to  his  will  whenever  he  met  her  alone  ;  yet 
now  Helen  stood  before  him  like  a  rock,  with  immov- 
able resolution  on  her  gentle  face.  He  lost  control 
of  himself,  and,  stepping  forward,  seized  her  by  the 
hand. 

"  You  are  not  speaking  5'^our  own  mind  in  this,"  he 
said.  "  You  are  influenced  by  others,  and  I  will  not 
submit  to  it.  The  dictation  of  your  mother  or  your 
priest  shall  not  come  between  us." 


HO  FAIBY    GOLD. 

"  Nothing  has  come  between  us  except  your  own 
conduct  and  my  own  sense  of  right,"  answered  Helen. 
She  grew  paler  still,  but  did  not  falter.  "  It  is  best 
that  we  should  part  at  once  ;  for  you  have  made  me 
feel  more  strongly  that  it  is  best  we  should  part 
altogetlier.     Let  me  go.     You  forget  where  we  are." 

"  You  will  not  listen  to  me?  —  you  will  not  give  me 
an  opportunity  to  explain.?  " 

"There  is  nothing  to  explain,"  she  said,  faintly; 
for  the  strain  of  the  interview  was  telling  upon  her. 
"  Nothinof  can  alter  the  fact  of  what  I  heard.  I  could 
never  trust  j^ou  or  believe  in  your  affection  after  tbat. 
Once  for  all,  everything  is  at  an  end  between  us.  Now 
let  me  go  " 

He  released  her  with  a  violence  which  sent  her  back 
a  step.  "  Go,  then!  "  he  said.  "  I  always  knew  that 
you  were  weak,  but  I  never  knew  before  how  weak. 
You  are  a  puppet  in  the  hands  of  others,  and  both  you 
and  they  shall  regret  this." 

He  left  the  vestibule  ;  while  she,  after  waiting  for  a 
moment  to  recover  herself,  turned  and  re-entered  the 
church. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

AND  so,  Brian,  I  find  you  as  obstinate  as  ever!  " 
said  Mr.  Singleton,  in  a  complaining  tone. 
The  person  whom  he  addressed  smiled  a 
little.  He  did  not  look  very  obstinate,  this  pleasant- 
faced  3^oung  man,  with  clear  gray  eyes,  that  regarded 
the  elder  man  kindly  and  humorously.  They  were 
sitting  in  the  latter' s  private  room,  which  opened  into 
the  drawing-room — ■  Mr.  Singleton  leaning  back  in  his 
deep,  luxurious  chair ;  Brian  Earle  seated  opposite 
him,  but  nearer  the  open  window,  through  which  his 
glance  wandered  now  and  then,  attracted  by  the  soft 
summer  scene  outside,  flooded  with  the  sunshine  of 
late  afternoon. 

"  I  am  sorry  if  it  seems  to  you  only  a  question  of 
obstinacy,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  as  pleasant  as  his  face; 
"  for  that  is  the  last  thing  I  should  wish  to  be  guilty 
of.  Mere  obstinacy  —  that  is,  attachment  to  one's 
will  simply  because  it  is  one's  will  —  always  seemed 
to  me  a  very  puerile  thing.  My  impulse  is  to  do  what 
another  wishes  ratlier  than  what  I  wish  myself  —  all 
things  being  equal." 

"Indeed!  "  said  Mr.  Singleton,  with  the  sarcastic 
inflection  of  voice  which  was  very  common  with  him. 
"  Then  I  am  to  suppose  that,  where  I  am  concerned, 

(141) 


142  FAIRY    GOLD. 

your  impulse  is  exactly  contrary  to  wliat  it  is  in  tlie 
case  of  dthers  ;  for  certainly  you  have  never  consented 
to  do  anything  that  I  wish." 

'"My  dear  uncle,  is  that  quite  just,  because  I  can 
not  do  one  thing  that  you  wish?  " 

"That  one  thing  includes  evervthino:.  You  know 
it  as  well  as  I  do.  In  refusing  tbat,  yuu  refuse  all  that 
1  can  or  ever  shall  ask  of  you." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  it,"  said  the  other.  ''  But  do 
you  not  think  that  it  is  a  great  thing  to  ask  of  a  man 
to  resign  his  own  phin  and  mode  of  life,  to  do  violence 
to  his  inclination,  aifd  to  give  up  not  only  his  ambition 
but  his  independence  as  well?  " 

"Yes,"  answered  Mr.  Singleton,  "it  is  a  great 
(U  al ;  but  1  offer  a  great  deal  also.  You  should  not 
forget  that." 

"  1  do  not  forget  it.  You  offer  an  immense  price, 
but  it  is  the  price  of  my  freedom  and  my  self- 
respect  " 

"  In  that  case  we  will  say  no  more  about  it,"  re- 
turned Mr.  Singleton,  hotly.  "  If  you  consider  that 
you  would  lose  3  our  freedom  and  your  self-respect  by 
complying  with  my  wishes  —  wishes  which,  I  am  sure, 
are  very  moderate  in  tlieir  demands, —  I  shall  cer- 
t'linly  not  urge  you  to  do  so.  We  will  consider  the 
subject  finally  closed." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  Earle.  "It  is  a  very 
painful  suliject  to  me,  because  I  legret  deeply  that  I 
am  unable  to  comply  with  your  wishes  " 

Mr.  Singleton  made  a  wave  of  his  hand  which 
seemed  peremptorily'  to  dismiss  this  regret.  "Noth- 
ing would  be  easier  than  for  you  to  gratify  me  in  the 
matter  if  you  cared  to  do  so.     Since  you  do  not  desire 


FAIBY    aOLD.  143: 

to  do  so,  I  shall  cease  to  urge  it.     I"  have  some  self- 
respect,  too  " 

To  this  statement  Earle  wisely  made  no  reply,  and 
he  was  also  successful  in  yepressing  a  smile ;  though 
he  knew  well  from  past  experience  that  his  uncle's 
resolution  would  not  hold  for  a  week,  and  that  the 
whole  ground  would  have  to  be  exhaustively  gone 
over  again  —  probabl}'  again  and  again. 

"You  seem  very  pleasantly  settled  here,"  he  ob- 
served after  a  moment,  by  way  of  opening  a  new 
subject.     "This  is  a  charming  old  place." 

"  Yes.  I  should  buy  it  if  I  expected  to  live  long 
enough  to  make  it  worth  while,"  replied  Mr.  Single- 
ton.    "  The  climate  here  suits  me  exceedingly  well." 

"And   the  people  are  agreeable,  I  suppose?  "  ob- 
served Earle,  absently,  his  eye  fastened  on  the  lovely 
alterations  of  light  and  shade  —  of  the  nearer  green  ■ 
melting  into  distant  blue  —  which  made  up  the  scene 
without. 

"  I  know  little  or  nothing  of  the  people  of  the 
town,"  said  Mr.  Singleton;  "  but  I  meet  a  sufficient 
number  of  my  old  friends  — brought  here,  like  myself, 
by  the  climate  —  to  give  me  as  much  society  as  I  want. 
Tom  and  his  wife  have,  of  course,  a  large  circle  of 
acquaintances  ;  so  you  need  entertain  no  fear  of  dull- 
ness in  the  short  time  you  are  good  enough  to  give 
me." 

"  Do  you  fancy  that  I  am  afraid  of  dullness?  "  asked 
Earle,  with  a  laugh.  "  On  the  contrary,  no  man  was 
ever  less  inclined  for  society  than  I  am.  But  I  like 
the  look  of  the  country  about  here,  and  I  think  I  shall 
do  sketching." 

"  If  you  find  sketching  to  do,  there  may  be  perhaps  . 


144  FAIBY   GOLD. 

some  hope  of  detaining  you  for  a  little  while,"  said 
Mr.  Singleton. 

"  The  length  of  my  stay  will  not  be  in  the  least 
dependent  on  any  possible  or  probable  sketching," 
returned  Earle,  good-humoredly.  He  understood  the 
disappointment  which  prompted  Mr.  Singleton  to  make 
these  sarcastic  speeches  ;  and  they  did  not  irritate  him 
in  the  least,  but  only  inspired  Lira  with  fresh  regret 
that  he  could  not  do  what  was  desired  of  him.  For 
he  spoke  truly  in  saying  that,  all  things  being  equal, 
he  much  preferred  to  do  what  another  wished  rather 
than  what  he  wished  himself.  This  was  part  of  a  dispo- 
sition which  was  amiable  and  obliging  almost  to  a  fault. 
But  with  the  amiability  went  great  strength  of  reso- 
lutioj,  when  he  was  once  fairly  roused  ;  and  this  reso- 
lution had  been  roused  on  a  matter  that  he  felt  was  a 
question  of  the  independence  of  his  life.  To  do  what 
his  uncle  asked  would  be  to  resign  that  independence 
for  an  indefinite  length  of  time  —  to  give  up  the  career 
on  which  from  earliest  boyhood  he  had  set  his  heart  — 
to  sell  Ills  liberty  for  a  mess  of  worldly  pottage  —  that 
had  no  attraction  for  him. 

A  man  who  cares  little  for  money  bej'ond  the  amount 
necessary  for  moderate  competence,  and  who  has  no 
desire  for  wealth,  is  a  character  so  rare  in  this  age  and 
country  that  people  are  somewhat  justified  in  the 
incredulit}'  with  which  they  usually  regardhim.  But 
now  and  then  such  characters  exist,  and  Brian  Earle 
was  one  of  them.  Possessing  simple,  almost  austere 
tastes,  having  from  his  earliest  boyhood  a  passion  for 
art,  money  had  never  appeared  to  him  the  supreme 
good  which  it  is  considered  to  be  by  so  many  others ; 
nor,  in  anj'  real  sense  of  the  word,  a  good  at  all.    This 


FAlIiY    GOLD.  145 

was  partly  owing  to  the  fact  that  he  had  inherited 
fortune  siifficieut  for  all  reasonable  needs,  and  had  no 
one  dependini^  upon  him.  A  man  who  has  given 
hostages  to  fortune  cannot  be  us  indifferent  to  fortune 
as  one  who  has  given  none.  P]ven  if  lie  lacks  a  mer- 
cenary' spirit,  he  must  desire  for  those  whose  happiness 
rests  in  his  care  the  freedom  from  sordid  anxieties 
which  a  moneiary  competency  in  sufficient  degree 
alone  can  give. 

But  Brian  Earle,  having  no  nearer  relative  than  a 
mariied  sister,  had  nothing  to  teach  him  to  value 
weallh  in  this  manner;  and,  since  it  could  purchase 
nothing  for  which  he  cared,  he  felt  no  temptation  to 
accept  ]Mr.  Singleton's  proposition  that  he  should 
devote  his  life  exclusively  to  him,  on  consideration  of 
inheriting  his  whole  estate.  There  were  few  people 
who  would  have  hesitated  over  such  an  offer,  and  who 
would  not  have  been  inclined  to  hold  the  man  insane 
who  did  hesitate.  But  Brian  Earle  did  more  than 
hesitate :  he  absolutely  refused  it. 

It  said  much  for  the  influence  of  his  personal  char- 
acter that,  even  after  this  refusal,  Mr.  Singleton  still 
evinced  the  partiality  for  his  society  which  he  had 
always  exhibited,  still  claimed  as  much  of  that  society 
as  he  possibly  could,  and  generally  consulted  him 
when  he  had  a  decision  of  importance  to  make.  "  Ten 
to  one,  Earle  will  finally  get  the  fortune  as  well  as  his 
own  way,"  those  who  knew  most  of  the  matter  often 
remarked.  But  one  person,  at  least,  had  no  expecta- 
tion of  this,  and  that  was  Earle  himself. 

His  affection  for  his  uncle  and  gratitude  for  much 
kindness,  however,  made  him  show  a  deference  and 
regard  for  the  latter  which  had  no  basis  in  interested 

10 


146  FAIRY    GOLD. 

hopes,  and  which  INIr.  Singleton  was  not  dull  enough 
to  mistake.  Indeed  there  could  be  no  doubt  that  his 
own  regard  for  Earle  was  largely  based  upon  the  fact 
that  the  young  man  desired  nothing  from  him,  and 
was  altogether  ind>  pcndeut  of  him,  even  while  this 
indepeudence  vexed  and  irked  him.  Perceiving  at 
the  present  time  that  the  conversation  had  reached  a 
point  where  it  would  be  well  that  it  should  cease, 
Brian  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  I  think  I  will  stroll  about  a  little,  and  look  into 
those  possibilities  of  sketching,"  he  said.  "I  have 
scarcely  glanced  at  the  place  as  yet." 

'"Probably  souie  one  is  going  to  drive,"  observed 
Mr.  Suigktou.  "  There  are  plenty  of  horses,  and 
Tom  and  his  wife  keep  them  well  employed.  Of 
course  they  are  at  your  service  also." 

"  I  am  accustomed  to  a  humbler  mode  of  locomo- 
tion, and  really  prefer  it,"  Brian  answered.  "  One 
sees  more  on  foot  " 

"  I  wish  jMju  had  more  expensive  tastes,"  said  his 
uncle.     "  One  could  get  a  hold  on  you  then." 

He  seemed  to  be  speaking  a  thought  aloud  ;  but,  as 
Earle  had  no  desire  to  be  provoking,  he  did  not  utter 
in  reply  the  quick  assent,  "  Yes,  by  no  surer  means 
than  expensive  tastes  can  a  man  sell  himself  into 
bondage." 

He  went  out,  whistling  softly,  seized  his  hat  in  the 
hall,  and  was  crossing  toward  the  entrance,  wiiea 
down  the  broad,  curving  staircase  came  Mrs.  Single- 
ton iu  out-door  costume.  Probably  the  encounter 
was  no  more  to  her  taste  than  to  his,  but  she  success- 
fully simulated  pleasure,  which  was  more  than  he  was 
able  to  do. 


FAJBY    GOLD.  147 


( 1 


You  are  just  going  out,  Brian?"  she  said. 
"  That  is  fortunate,  for  I  wanted  to  ask  you  to  go 
to  drive  with  us ;  but  I  knew  you  were  with  ynur 
uncle,  and  he  is  so  fond  of  your  society  that  I  did 
not  like  to  disturb  j'ou.  But  now  you  will  come,  of 
course.  Oi\\y  Miss  Lynde  and  myself  are  going.  I 
believe  you  have  not  yet  met  Miss  Lynde  —  ah,  here 
she  is !  " 

For,  as  they  came  out  on  the  portico  together,  they 
found  Marion  already  there.  Words  of  polite  refusal 
were  on  Earle's  lips  —  for  had  he  not  just  remarked 
that  he  did  not  care  to  drive?  — but  when  his  glance 
fell  on  the  beautiful  girl,  to  whom  Mrs.  Singleton  at 
once  presented  hiui,  those  words  found  no  expression. 
It  was  natural  enough  that,  with  the  delight  of  the 
artist  in  beauty,  he  should  have  felt  that  the  presence 
of  such  a  face  put  tlie  question  of  driving  in  a  new 
aspect  Altogether.  It  would  be  a  pleasure  to  study 
that  face,  and  a  pleasure  to  discover  if  the  mind  and 
the  spirit  beliind  were  worthy  of  such  a  shrine. 

So,  after  handing  the  ladies  into  the  open  carriage 
that  awaited  them,  he  followed,  and  took  his  seat 
opposite  the  face  that  attracted  him,  as  it  had 
attracted  the  admiration  of  everyone  who  ever  looked 
at  it.  Marion  herself  was  so  accustomed  to  this 
admiration  that  the  perception  of  it  in  Earle's  eyes 
neither  surprised  nor  elated  her.  She  took  it  as  a 
matter  of  course, —  a  matter  which  might  or  might  not 
prove  of  importance, —  and  meanwhile  regarded  rather 
cuiiously  on  her  part  the  man  who  carelessly  put  a 
fortune  aside  in  order  to  follow  his  own  will  and  his 
own  chosen  path  of  life.  On  this  remai-kable  conduct 
she  had  already  speculated  more  than  once.     Did  it 


148  FAIEY    GOLD. 

moan  that  he  was  afool  —  as  Mrs.  Singleton  plainly 
thought,  —  or  did  it  mean  that  he  had  a  belief  in  him- 
self  and  in  his  own  powers,  which  made  him  stronger 
than  other  men,  and  therefore  able  to  dispense  with 
the  aid  which  they  so  highly  desired? 

She  had  not  sat  opposite  him  for  many  minutes 
before  she  was  able  to  answer  the  first  question. 
Decidedly  he  was  not  a  fool  —  not  even  in  that  modi- 
fled  sense  in  which  people  of  artistic,  imaginative 
temperaments  are  sometimes  held  to  be  fools  by  the 
strictly  practical.  But  with  regard  to  the  other  ques- 
tion, decision  was  not  so  easy.  Nothing  in  his  appear- 
ance, manner  or  speech  indicated  any  extraordinary 
belief  in  himself ;  but  Marion  had  sufficient  keenness 
of  perception  to  recognize  that,  under  his  unassuming 
quietness,  power  of  some  sort  existed.  It  might  be 
the  power  to  accomplish  great  things,  or  it  might  only 
be  the  power  to  content  himself  with  moderate  ones  ; 
but  it  was  certainly  not  an  altogether  ordinary  nature 
that  looked  out  of  the  clear  gray  eyes,  and  spoke  in 
the  pleasant  voice. 

"  "Where  shall  we  go?  "  said  Mrs.  Singleton  to  Ma- 
rion, when  they  had  rolled  through  Scarborough  and 
were  out  in  the  country.  "  We  must  show  Brian  all 
the  points  of  picturesque  interest  in  the  vicinity.  Do 
you  think  we  have  time  to  drive  to  Elk  Ridge?  " 

"Oh,  no!"  answered  Marion,  quickly ;  "  it  is  too 
late  to  go  there.  And  I  am  sure  there  are  other 
places  nearer  at  hand  which  are  quite  as  pretty." 

"Do  you  think  so?"  said  Mrs.  Singleton,  skepti- 
cally. "Pray  tell  us  about  them ;  for  I  know  of  no 
place  half  so  charming  in  its  surroundings  and  view 
as  Elk  Ridge." 


FAIIiY    GOLD.  149 

Marion  colored  a  little.  She  really  did  not  know  of 
any  other  place  equal  to  Elk  Ridge  in  picturesque 
attractions  ;  but  her  dislike  to  the  idea  of  revisiting  it 
was  so  strong  that  she  had  spoken  instinctiveh',  with- 
out thought.  She  was  always  quick  witted  enough  to 
see  her  waj'  out  of  a  difficulty,  however,  and  after  an 
Instant's  hesitation  she  answered  : — 

"  I  did  not  say  that  1  positively  knew  of  such  a 
place,  only  that  I  was  sure  it  must  exist,  and  probably 
near  at  hand.  Why  not?  The  country  seems  to  be 
very  much  the  same  in  its  features  all  about  hei'e." 

Mrs.  Singleton  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  No  one  can  be  sure  of  what  may  or  may  not 
exist,"  she  said  ;  "  but  when  it  is  a  question  of  looking 
for  it,  I  prefer  what  has  been  already  discovered.  We 
will  not  go  to  Elk  Ridge,  however,  if  you  object.  I 
am  afraid  our  gypsy  tea  must  have  left  disagreeable 
associations  behind  it." 

Earle  could  not  but  observe  that  Marion's  color 
deepened  still  more,  and  that  a  slight  tightening  of  the 
lines  about  her  mouth  showed  that  her  annoyance  was 
greater  than  the  nature  of  the  subject  seemed  to  war- 
rant. "  Evidently  some  very  disagreeable  association 
in  the  matter!"  he  thought;  and,  before  she  could 
repl}'  to  the  last  remark,  he  said :  — 

' '  Pray  do  not  show  me  the  best  thing  in  the  neigh- 
borhood at  once.  That  should  be  led  up  to  by  suc- 
cessive degrees.  These  lovely  pastoral  meadows  and 
those  distant  hills  strike  a  note  that  suits  me  exactly 
to-day.  I  do  not  care  for  anything  more  boldly 
picturesque." 

"  In  that  case,  take  the  river  road,  Anderson," 
said   Mrs.    Singleton,  addressing  the  coachman,  and 


150  FAIRY    GOLD. 

settling  herself  comfortably  under  the  shade  of  her 
lace-covered  parasol. 

So,  for  several  miles  they  bowled  gently  along  the 
level  road  which  followed  the  margin  of  a  beautiful 
stream,  its  soft  valley  spreading  in  Arcadian  loveli- 
ness around  them ;  gentle  green  hills  bounding  it ; 
and  far  away,  bathed  in  luminous  mist,  a  vision  of 
distant,  purple  mountains. 

Earle  felt  himself  lapsed  into  a  state  of  pleasant 
content.  The  luxurious  motion  of  tbe  carriage,  the 
charming  scenes  passing  before  his  eyes,  the  beautiful 
face  opposite  him,  and  the  sound  of  musical  voices  — 
one,  at  least,  of  which  did  not  talk  nonsense — all 
combined  to  satisfy  the  artist  which  was  so  strong 
within  him,  and  to  make  him  feel  that  the  virtue 
which  had  brought  him  to  Scai'borougli  was  rewarded. 

As  they  re-entered  the  town,  in  the  light  of  a 
radiant  sunset,  an  incident  occurred  which  revealed  a 
fact  that  astonished  both  Mrs.  Singleton  and  Marion. 
As  they  drove  rapidly  down  a  street,  before  them  on 
rising  ground  stood  the  Catholic  church,  with  its 
golden  cross  in  bold  relief  outlined  against  the  rose- 
red  beauty  of  the  evening  sky.    ■ 

"  What  a  pretty  effect!  "  cried  Marion. 

Earle  turned  in  his  seat  to  follow  the  direction  of 
her  glance,  and,  seeing  the  cross,  looked  surprised. 
"  What  is  that?  "  he  said.  "  It  looks  like  a  CathoUc 
church." 

"  It  is  a  Catholic  church,"  answered  Marion. 

He  said  nothing  more,  but  as  the  carriage  swept 
around  a  corner  and  carried  them  in  front  of  it,  he 
looked  toward  the  church  and  lifted  his  hat. 

This  act  of  reverence  would  probably  have  had  no 


FAIRY    GOLD.  151 

meaning  to  Mrs.  Singleton,  but  Marion  liad  lived  too 
long  with  Catholics  not  to  understand  it.  "Oh!  " 
she  exclaimed,  involuntarily,  with  an  accent  of  sur- 
prise; adding,  when  Earle  looked  at  her,  "  is  it  pos- 
sible you  are  a  Catholic!  " 

He  smiled.  "Does  that  astonish  you.?"  he  asked. 
"  There  are  a  good  maiiy  of  them  in  the  world." 

"A  Catholic!"  repeated  Mrs.  Singleton,  incred- 
ulously. "  What  nonsense!  —  Of  course  he  is  not  — 
at  least  not  a  iJomaw  Catholic!  " 

"Pardon  me,"  he  answered,  still  smiling,  "but 
that  is  exactly  what  I  am  —  a  Roman  Catholic.  For 
that  is  the  only  kind  of  Catholic  which  it  is  worth  any 
one's  while  to  be." 


CHAPTER   XV. 

OH,  you  must   be   mistaken,  Anna!"  said  Tom 
Singleton,     with      his      easy     good-nature. 
"  Brian  could  not  have   told  you  in  earnest 
that  he  is  a  CathoHc.     The  thing  is  absurd." 

"  Ask  him  for  yourself,  then,"  answered  Mrs.  Sin- 
gleton. "  You  will  soon  discover  whether  or  not  he  is 
in  earnest." 

"  I  can  not  say  that  I  feel  interested  in  his  religious 
opinions,  so  why  should  I  ask  him?  " 

"  In  order  to  find  whether  or  not  I  am  mistaken, 
and  in  order  to  put  your  uncle  on  his  guard ;  for  I 
am  sure  that  he  would  not  be  pleased  by  such  a  dis- 
covery. ' ' 

"Then  let  him  make  it  for  himself,"  said  Singleton. 
"  It  is  no  affair  of  mine.  I  should  feel  hke  a  sneak 
if  I  meddled  with  such  a  matter ;  and,  what  is  more, 
the  old  fellow  would  very  quickly  let  me  know  that  he 
thought  me  one.  Besides,  it  makes  no  difference. 
Earle  is  out  of  the  running.  His  own  obstinacy 
settles  that." 

"Not  so  much   as  you   think,  perhaps,"  said  the 
lady.     "  Why  is  he  here  if  the  matter  is  settled  ?     Be- 
lieve it  or  not,  his  chance  of  inheriting  the  fortune  is 
better  than  yours  to-day." 
(152) 


FAIRY   GOLD.  153 

"Well,  if  so,  let  the  best  man  win,"  returned 
Singleton,  philosophically.  "  1  shall  certainly  not 
descend  to  any  trickery  to  get  the  better  of  him.  Of 
course  I  am  anxious  for  the  fortune,  but  to  show  my 
anxiety  would  be  a  very  poor  way  to  secure  it.  I 
firmly  believe  that  what  makes  my  uncle  lean  so  to 
Brian  is  that  he  does  not  appear  to  care  for  anything 
that  he  can  do  for  him." 

"And  in  my  opinion  that  indifference  is  all  appear- 
ance," observed  Mrs.  Singleton,  sharph-.  "If  he 
cares  nothing  for  what  yoiw  uncle  can  do,  wiiy  is  he 
in  attendance  on  him?  But,  however  that  ma}'  be,  I 
shall  see  that  his  extraordinary  change  of  religion 
becomes  known." 

"If  you  go  to  my  uncle  with  such  information, 
you  will   only  harm  yourself,"  said  Singleton,  warn- 

"  I  sh.ll  not  think  of  going  to  him,"  she  answered. 
"  I  know  very  well  that  his  sentuuents  toward  me  are 
not  sufficiently  cordial  to  make  that  safe.  I  shall 
manage  that  Brian  will  give  the  information  himself." 

"If  3'ou  take  my  advice,  you  will  let  the  matter 
alone,"  said  her  husband. 

But  he  knew  very  well  that  she  would  not  take  his 
advice,  and  he  said  to  himself  that  it  was  well  for  her 
to  do  as  she  liked.  She  would  not  be  satisfied  without 
doing  so  ;  and,  after  all,  if  Brian  had  been  so  foolish 
as  to  become  a  Roman  Catholic,  there  was  no  objection 
to  his  uncle's  knowing  it.  Earle  himself  certainly  did 
not  desire  secrecy,  or  else  he  would  not  have  men- 
tioned the  fact  so  openly  and  carelessly. 

And,  indeed,  nothing  was  further  from  Earle's  mind 
than  any  desire  for  secrecy.     Therefore,  he  fell  with. 


154  FAIBY   GOLD. 

the  readiest  ease  into  the  trap  which  Mrs.  Singleton 
soon  laid  for  him.  It  was  one  evening,  when  the 
household  party  was  assembled  in  the  drawing  room 
after  dinner,  that  she  led  the  conversation  to  foreign 
politics,  and  the  position  of  the  Papacy  in  European 
affairs.  Mr.  Singleton,  who  took  much  more  interest 
than  the  average  American  usually  does  in  these  af- 
fairs, was  speedily  led  to  express  himself  strongly 
against  the  Papal  claim  to  temporal  sovereignty. 

Earle  looked  up.  "  I  think,"  he  observed,  in  his 
pleasant  but  resolute  voice,  "  that  you  have,  perhaps, 
never  considered  that  question  in  its  true  beaiings." 

"J  have  never  considered  it  in  its  true  bearings!  " 
said  Mr.  Singleton,  astonished  bej'ond  measure  by 
this  bold  challenge  ;  for  he  regarded  himself,  and  was 
regarded  by  his  friends,  as  an  authority  on  the  subject 
of  European  pohtics.  '•  In  that  case  will  you  be  kind 
enough  to  inform  me  what  are  its  true  bearings.? " 

The  request  was  sarcastic,  but  Earle  answered  it 
with  the  utmost  seriousness.  "Certainly,"  he  said, 
"  to  the  best  of  my  ability."  And,  before  Mr.  Sin- 
gleton could  disclaim  any  desire  to  be  taken  in  earnest 
he  proceeded  to  slate  with  great  clearness  the  his- 
torical proofs  and  arguments  in  favor  of  the  Pope's 
sovereignty. 

His  little  audience  listened  with  a  surprise  which 
yielded,  in  spite  of  themselves,  to  interest.  The  ideas 
and  facts  presented  were  all  new  to  them,  and  to  one, 
at  least,  seemed  unanswerable. 

It  has  been  ahead}'  said  that  Marion  had  a  mind  free 
from  prejudice;  she  had  also  a  mind  quick  and  keen 
in  its  power  of  apprehension.  She  cauglit  the  drift 
and  force  of  Earle' s  statements  before  any  one  else 


FAIRY    GOLD.  155 

did,  and  said  to  herself,  "That  must  be  true!" 
Yet,  even  while  she  listened  with  attention,  it  was 
characteristic  of  her  that  she  also  observed  with 
amusement  tlie  scene  which  the  group  before  her  pre- 
sented. Mr.  Singleton,  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  was 
frowning  with  impatience,  and  the  air  ot  one  who 
through  courtesy  only  lends  an  unwilling  ear.  Tom 
Singleton  was  watching  his  cousin  with  an  expression 
compounded  of  surprise,  curiosity,  and  an  involun- 
tary admiration;  while  Mrs.  Singleton  looked  down 
demurely  at  a  fan  which  she  opened  and  shut,  her 
lips  wearing  a  smile  of  mingled  amusement  and  grati- 
fication. 

In  the  midst  of  tliis  group  Earle,  with  an  air  of  the 
most  quiet  composure,  was  laying  down  h  s  prnposi- 
tions  one  after  another,  unobservant  of  and  indiffer- 
ent to  the  expressions  on  the  different  faces  around 
him.  "He  is  very  brave,"  thought  Marion;  "but 
surely  he  is  also  very  foolish.  Why  should  he  unnec- 
essai-ily  contradict  and  vex  the  old  man,  who  can  do 
so  much  for  him?"  A  sense  of  irritation  mingled 
with  the  admiration  which  she  could  not  withhold 
from  him.  ' '  It  would  have  been  easy  to  say  nothing, ' ' 
she  thought  again;   "  and  yet  how  well  he  speaks!  " 

He  did  indeed  speak  well  —  so  well  that  the  atten- 
tion o-f  Mr.  Singleton  was  gradually  drawn  from  tiie 
matter  to  the  manner  of  his  speech.  He  turned  and 
looked  keenly  at  the  young  man  from  under  his  bent 
brows. 

"  You  speak,"  he  said,  "  like  an  advocate  of  the 
cause.     How  is  that?" 

"  I  hope  that  I  should  be  an  advocate  of  any  cause 
which  I  believed  to  be  just,"  answered  Brian,  quietly  ; 


156  FAIEY   GOLD. 

"but  I  am  in  a  special  manner  the  advocate  of  this, 
because  I  am  a  Catholic." 

"A  Cathohc!"  Mr.  Singleton  looked  as  if  he 
could  hardly  believe  the  evidence  of  his  ears.  "  It  is 
not  possible  that  3'ou  mean  a  Romanist?" 

Earle  bent  his  head,  smiling  a  little.  "  I  mean  just 
that,"  he  said;  "or  at  least  what  yore  mean  by  that. 
The  term  is  neither  very  correct  nor  very  courteous, 
but  it  expresses  the  fact  clearly  enough." 

This  coolness  had  the  usual  effect  of  provoking  Mr. 
Singleton,  yet  of  making  him  feel  the  uselessness  of 
expressing  vexation.  It  was  evident  that  his  disgust 
was  as  great  as  his  surprise,  but  he  waited  a  moment 
before  giving  expression  to  either.  Then  he  said, 
curtly :  — 

"It  is  no  affair  of  mine  what  3'ou  clioose  to  call 
yourself,  but  I  should  have  more  respect  for  your 
sense  if  you  told  me  you  were  a  Buddhist  " 

"Very  likely,"  returned  Earle,  with  composure; 
"  for  in  that  case  I  sliould  be  following  the  last  whim 
of  fas-hionable  intellectual  folly.  But,  you  see,  I 
thought  it  more  sensible  to  go  back  to  the  old  faith  of 
our  fathers. ' ' 

"You  might  have  gone  back  to  paganism,  then," 
sneered  the  other.  "  That  was  the  faith  of  our  fathers 
also." 

"Very  true,"  assented  the  young  man;  "  and  in 
that  also  I  should  have  been  following  a  large  train. 
But  I  was  not  in  search  of  a  faith  simply  because  it 
had  been  that  of  my  fathers.  I  was  in  search  of  a 
faith  which  bore  the  marks  of  truth,  and  I  found  it 
to  be  that  which  some  of  my  fathers  unfortunately 
discarded." 


FAIRY    GOLD.  157 

"  And  you  have  absolutely  joined  the  Church  of 
Rome?"  demanded  Mr.  Singleton,  with  ominous 
calmness. 

"Yes,"  Earle  replied,  as  calmly;  "some  months 
ago." 

The  elder  man  took  up  a  newspaper.  "  In  that 
case,"  he  observed,  in  a  tone  of  icy  coldness,  "  I  have 
nothing  more  to  say.  The  step  is  one  with  which  I 
have  no  sympathy  and  very  litllo  tolerance ;  but,  for- 
tunately, it  does  not  concern  me  :it  all." 

Mrs.  Singleton  shot  a  glance  at  her  husband,  which 
Marion  saw  was  one  of  triumph.  She  knew  instantly 
that  the  conversation  which  led  to  Eaile's  avowal  had 
not  been  a  matter  of  accident.  "  What  a  pretty 
trick!  "  she  said,  mentally,  and,  with  a  sudden  im- 
pulse to  show  her  sympathy  with  courage,  she 
addressed  the  3'oung  man  :  — 

"You  have  at  least  the  pleasure  of  knowing,  Mr. 
Earle,  that  j'ou  belong  to  the  same  faith  as  most  of 
the  best  and  many  of  the  greatest  people  of  the 
world." 

Earle  looked  at  her  with  surprise.  Such  a  speech, 
under  the  circumstances,  was  the  last  he  could  have 
expected  from  her ;  for,  notwithstanding  the  glamour 
of  her  beauty,  he  had  read  her  accurately  enough  to 
perceive  her  worldliness,  and  her  de:-ire  for  all  that 
the  world  could  give.  He  knew  that  she  was  a  favor- 
ite of  his  uncle's,  and  could  not  have  imagined  that 
she  would  brave  the  displeasure  of  the  latter  in  a 
manner  so  unnecessary.  Perhajjs  Mr.  Singleton  was 
also  surprised  —  at  least  he  glanced  up  at  her  quickly, 
while  Earle  answered: — 

"  It  is  a  deeper  satisfaction  siill  to  believe  that  it  is 


158  FAIRY    GOLD. 

a  faith  which  has  made  the  best  of  those  people  what 
they  are,  and  which  can  derive  no  lustre  from  the 
greatest." 

"  I  have  alwaj-s  observed  that  Roman  Catholics  are 
very  enthusiastic  about  their  religion,"  said  Mrs. 
Singleton ;  "  but  I  did  not  know  before,  Marion,  that 
you  inclined  that  way." 

"What  way?"  asked  Marion,  coolly.  "To  en- 
thusiasm or  to  Catholicity?  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  do 
not  incline  to  either.  But  I  have  seen  a  great  deal  of 
Catholics,  and  admire  many  things  about  them.  In- 
deed, all  of  my  best  friends  belong  to  that  religion." 

"  Then  we  may  expect  you  to  follow  in  Brian's 
footsteps  before  long,"  said  the  lady,  with  malicious 
sweetness. 

' '  There  is  nothing  that  I  am  aware  of  more  improb- 
able," replied  Marion. 

She  rose  then,  conscious  that  the  conversation,  if 
carried  farther,  might  develop  more  unpleasantness, 
and  moved  toward  the  piano.  Earle  followed  her,  in 
order  to  lift  the  lid  of  the  instrument,  and  as  he  did 
so  said,  smilino;lv  :  — 

"  I  think  you  are  quite  right  to  endeavor  to  restore 
harmony  by  sweet  sounds.  Is  it  not  extraordinary 
that  there  should  be  no  such  potent  cause  of  discord 
iu  the  world  as  a  question  of  religion?" 

"I  sup|)ose  it  is  because  people  feel  more  strongly 
on  that  subject  than  on  any  other,"  she  answered, 
looking  up  at  him,  and  wondering  a  little  that  a  man 
so  young,  with  all  the  world  before  him,  and  all  its 
ambitions  to  tempt  him,  should  think  of  religion  at  all. 

The  next  day  she  found  an  opportunity  to  say  this 
frankl}-.     During  the   morning  she  strolled  into    the 


FAIRY   GOLD.  '  159 

garden  with  a  book,  and  there  encountered  Earle, 
leaning  on  a  stone-wall  that  skirted  the  lower  boun- 
daries of  the  grounds,  sketching  a  pretty  meadow  and 
group  of  trees  beyond.  She  came  upon  him  unob- 
served —  for  he  was  standing  with  his  back  to  the  path 
along  which  she  advanced, — -and  the  sound  of  iier 
clear,  musical  voice  was  the  first  intimation  he  had  of 
her  presence. 

"  How  rapidly  you  sketch,  Mr.  Earle,  and  how 
well!  "  she  said. 

He  started  and  turne'l,  to  find  her  standing:  so 
near  tliat  she  overlooked  his  work.  She  smiled  as  his 
astonished  eyes  met  her  own.  "  Do  I  disturb  yoxi?  " 
she  asked.     "  If  so  I  will  go  away." 

"You  have  certainly  not  disturbed  me  up  to  the 
present  moment,"  he  answered.  "  Have  you  been 
here  long?  " 

"  Only  a  few  minutes.  You  were  so  absorbed  that 
you  did  not  observe  me,  and  I  was  so  interested  in 
watching  you  that  I  did  not  care  to  speak.  But  if  I 
disturb  3'ou  —  " 

"  Why  should  j^ou  disturb  me  if  you  care  to  stay? 
You  will  not  obstruct  my  view  of  the  meadow  or  trees. 
It  is  a  pretty  little  scene,  is  it  not?  " 

"Very,"  she  answered,  moving  to  the  wall,  at  which 
she  paused,  a  few  feet  distant  from  him,  and  laid  her 
book  down  on  the  ledge  which  it  conveniently  presented. 
Then  she  stood  silent  for  a  minute,  lookinsr  at  the 
shadow-dappled  landscape,  and  conscious  of  a  sense  of 
pique,  provoked  by  the  cool  indifference  of  his  reply. 
She  knew  that  to  man}'  men  her  presence  ivovld 
obstruct  their  view  of  the  fairest  scene  nature  might 
present,  and  she    could  perceive  no  reason  why  this 


160  •  FAIRY    GOLD. 

man  should  be  different  from  them, —  why  her  beauty, 
which  his  artist-glance  had  evidently  appreciated, 
seemed  to  have  so  little  effect  upon  him.  Her  vanity 
had  become  more  insistent  in  its  demands,  from  the 
homage  which  had  been  offered  her ;  and  the  with- 
holding this  homage  had  already  become  a  thing  insuf- 
ferable. But  she  was  far  too  proud  to  show  this,  as 
many  weaker  women  do ;  and,  after  a  short  interval, 
she  said,  lightly  enough: — 

"  What  a  very  great  pleasure  it  must  be  when  one  is 
able  to  set  down  beauty  as  you  are  doing  —  to  pre- 
serve and  make  it  one's  own!  I  have  a  friend  who 
loves  art  devotedly — in  fact,  she  is  a  true  artist, — 
and  I  have  always  the  same  feeling  when  I  watch  her 
at  work.'l 

"  The  poweris  certainly  a  great  delight,"  saidEarle, 
going  on  with  his  rapid  strokes  ;  "  but  you  must  not 
imagine  that  it  is  all  delight.  There  is  a  great  deal  of 
drudgery  in  this  as  in  all  other  arts ;  and,  worse  still, 
there  are  times  of  infinite  disgust  as  well  as  profound 
discouragement. ' ' 

"So  Claire  used  to  say  —  at  least,  she  spoke  of 
discouragement,  but  I  never  heard  her  speak  of 
disgust." 

"  Claire !  "  Earle  looked  at  her  now  with  his  quick, 
bright  glance.  "  I  wonder  if  I  do  not  know  of  whom 
you  speak.  There  can  hardly  be  more  than  one  Claire 
who  is  a  true  artist." 

"  There  may  be  a  hundred,  for  aught  I  know," 
replied  Marion,  carelessly  ;  "  but  I  mean  Claire  Alford. 
Her  father  was  a  distinguished  artist,  I  believe.  You 
may  have  heard  of  him." 

"  Everyone  has  heard  of  him,  I  imagine,"  returned 


FAIEY    GOLD.  161 

Earle,  a  little  drj^ly  ;  "but  I  knew  him  well  in  my 
boyliood,  and  he  did  more  than  any  one  else  to  fan 
whatever  artistic  flame  1  possess.  I  was,  there  fore, 
very  glad  when  I  chanced  to  meet  his  daughter  about  a 
monlh  ago." 

"You  met  Claire?  That  can  hardly  be!  She  is 
abroad." 

"  I  met  her  a  few  days  before  she  sailed.  The  lady 
with  whom  she  has  gone,  and  with  whom  she  was  then 
staying,  is  the  widow  of  an  artist  whom  I  knew,  and 
is  hei  self  a  great  friend  of  mine." 

"  And  so  you  have  met  Claire!  I  really  don't  know 
why  it  should  surprise  me,  yet  it  does.  What  did  you 
think  of  her?  I  ask  the  question  without  hesitation, 
because  I  know  it  is  impossible  for  any  one  to  think  ill 
of  her,  and  the  well  is  only  in  proportion  as  3  ou  know 
or  divine  her." 

"  I  am  sure  of  that,"  said  Earle,  with  a  kindly  smile 
for  the  speaker.  "  She  charmed  me  at  first  sight :  she 
is  so  simple,  so  candid,  so  unconscious  of  herself,  so 
evidently  intent  upon  high  aims." 

"  Yes,  she  is  all  of  that,"  replied  Marion.  Involun- 
tarily her  voice  fell  as  she  thought  of  how  little  any 
word  of  this  commendation  could  be  a|»plied  to  herself. 
"  Did  you  find  out  that  you  had  something  in  common 
beside  your  love  of  art?"  she  asked,  after  an  instant. 
"  Claire  is  a  fervent  Catholic." 

"  Is  she?"  he  said,  with  interest.  "  No,  I  did  not 
discover  it.  Nothing  brouglit  up  the  subject  of  relig- 
iim.  But  I  am  not  surprisid.  There  is  an  air  about 
her  that  made  me  call  her  in  my  own  mind  a  vestal  of 
art.  I  can  easily  realize  that  she  is  something  more 
and  better  than  that." 

11 


162  FAIBY    GOLD. 

"  It  is  a  pretty  name,  and  suits  her  well  —  a  vestal 
of  art,"  said  Marion.  She  was  silent  then  for  a  min- 
ute or  two,  and  stood  looking  with  level  gaze  from 
under  the  broad  brim  of  her  sun-hat  at  the  pastoral 
meadow-scene,  unconscious  for  once  what  a  picture 
she  herself  made,  as  she  leaned  on  the  stone-wall,  with 
a  spreading  mulberry-tree  throwing  its  chequered 
shade  down  upon  her  graceful  figure.  Artist  instinct 
drewEarle's  eyes  upon  her,  and  he  was  saying  to  him- 
self, "  How  much  I  should  like  to  sketch  her!  Shall  I 
ask  her  permission  to  do  so?"  when  she  suddenly 
turned  her  face  toward  him  and  spoke. 

"Do  you  know,  Mr.  Earle,"  she  said,  "that  you 
astonished  me  very  much  last  night.?  For  the  matter 
of  that"  —with  a  slight  laugh,—  "  I  suppose  you 
astonished  everyone.  But  I  am  bold  enough  to  ex 
press  my  astonishment,  because  I  should  really  like  lo 
know  what  you  meant." 

"I  shall  be  very  happy  to  tell  you,"  Earle  answered, 
"  if  you  will  give  me  an  idea  what  you  mean." 

"  I  mean  this.  Why  did  you  vex  Mr.  Singleton  by 
unnecessary  contradiction,  and  an  unnecessary  avowal 
of  what  you  knew  would  annoy  if  it  did  not  seriously 
alienate  him .?  " 

The  young  man  regarded  her  with  surprise.  "  Sim- 
ply because  I  had  no  alternative,"  he  replied.  "Noth- 
ing was  further  from  my  desire  than  to  vex  him.  But 
why,  in  the  name  of-  all  that  is  reasonable,  should 
people  be  vexed  by  hearing  the  truth .?  Is  not  that  what 
we  all  wish,  ostensibly  at  least  —  to  learn  and  to  believe 
the  truth  about  a  thing,  not  mere  fancies  or  ideas.?  " 

^'Ye— s,"  said  Marion,  hesitatingly.  "I  suppose 
no  one  would  acknowledge  that   he  did  not  wish  to 


FAIBY   GOLD.  163 

know  the  truth ;  but  you  are  aware  that  nothiug  is 
more  offensive  than  the  truth  to  people  who  have 
strong  convictions  against  it." 

"  So  much  the  worse  for  such  people,  then." 

"  And  so  much  the  worse  sometimes  for  those 
who  persist  in  enforcing  enlightenment  upon  them." 

"  I  really  do  not  think  that  is  my  character,"  he 
said.  "  I  have  never,  to  my  knowledge,  attempted  to 
force  enlightenment  upon  any  one.  But  sometimes  — 
as  was  the  case  last  night  —  one  must  speak  (even 
when  speaking  will  serve  no  end  of  conviction),  or  be 
guilty  of  cowardice  and  tacit  deception." 

Marion  shook  her  head,  in  protest,  apparently, 
against  these  views  ;  but  pi'obably  she  felt  the  useless- 
ness  of  combating  them.  At  least  when  she  spoke 
jigain  it  was  to  say,  abruptl}' :  — 

'•  But  how  on  earth  do  you  chance  to  take  that  par- 
ticular view  of  truth.''  " 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

EARLE  smiled.     ' '  The  answer  to  that  is  contained 
in  what  I  remarked  a  moment  ago,"  he  said. 
"I  wanted  truth  itself,  not  my  own  or  anybody's 
else  views  or  fancies  concerning  it." 

Marion  looked  at  him  with  a  gravity  on  her  face 
which  gave  it  a  new  character  altogether.  "  And  do 
you  really  think  that  you  found  this  absolute  truth  in 
the  Catholic  faith.?  "  she  asked. 

"I  do  not  think  so  —  I  know  it,"  he  answered. 
"  It  is  there  or  nowhere.     I  satisfied  myself  of  that." 

"  But  how  did  you  come  to  care  enough  about  it  to 
think  of  satisfying  yourself?  "  she  persisted.  "  That 
is  what  puzzles  me  most.  The  Catholic  faith  may  be 
true  —  I  can  readily  believe  it  is,  —  but  how  did  you, 
a  young  man  with  the  world  all  before  you,  ever  come 
to  care  whether  it  were  true  or  not }" 

He  regarded  her  silently  for  a  moment  before  reply- 
inff.  It  seemed  as  if  he  found  it  difficult  to  answer 
such  words  as  these.  At  length  he  said:  "  Is  there 
any  special  reason  why  a  young  man,  even  if  it  were 
true  that  he  had  all  the  world  before  him  —  and  it  is 
true  in  a  very  limited  sense  of  me, —  should  not  think 
occasionally  of  the  most  important  subject  in  the 
world,  and  should  not  desire  to  think  rightly?  " 
(164) 


FAIBY   GOLD.  165 

"  Of  course  there  is  no  reason  why  he  should  not," 
she  replied.  "  Only  it  seems  unnatural.  One  fancies 
him  tliinking  of  other  things.  In  his  place,  /should 
think  of  olher  tbings." 

"  May  I  ask  what  they  would  be?  " 

"  I  am  sure  you  can  hardly  need  to  ask.  Even  if 
you  have  no  ambition  yourself,  you  must  realize  its 
existence ;  you  must  know  how  it  makes  men  desire 
fame  and  power  and  wealth  for  the  sake  of  the  great 
advantages  they  bnng.  In  your  place,  I  should  think 
of  making  a  name,  of  conquering  fortune,  of  enjoying 
all  that  the  world  offers." 

"  Well,"  he  said,  after  a  short  pause  —  during 
which  he  had  gone  on  with  the  rapid,  practiced 
strokes  of  his  pencil, —  "  all  that  is  natural  enough, 
and  there  is  no  harm  in  it  unless  one  wished  to  enjoy 
some  of  the  unlawful  things  which  the  world  offers. 
But  why  should  one  not  do  all  this  —  make  a  name 
and  conquer  fortune —  and  still  give  some  thought  to 
the  great  question  of  one's  final  end  and  destiny?  " 

She  made  a  slight  gesture  of  impatience.  "  You 
know  very  well,"  she  said,  "  that,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
an  ambitious  man  has  no  time  for  considering  such 
questions." 

' '  That  depends  entirely  upon  the  man.  You  should 
not  make  your  assertions  so  sweeping.  In  these  days, 
at  least,  no  man  of  thought  —  no  man  who  is  at  all 
interested  in  intellectual  questions  —  can  ignore  the 
subject  of  religion.  Let  me  illustrate  my  meaning. 
Would  you  have  been  surprised  to  learn  that  1  were 
an  Agnostic  or  a  Positivist?  " 

"  No,"  she  replied,  somewhat  reluctantly,  "  That 
would  have  been  different.' 


ir.6  FAIBY    GOLD. 

"  Only  different  because  they  are  fashionable  creeds 
of  the  hour,  and  it  is  considered  a  proof  of  intellectual 
strength  to  stultify  reason,  and,  in  the  face  of  the 
accumulated  proofs  of  ages,  to  declare  that  man  can 
know  nothing  of  his  origin  or  his  end.  But  when,  on 
the  contrary,  one  accepts  a  logical  and  luminous  S3's- 
tem  of  thought,  a  revelation  which  offers  an  explana- 
tion of  the  mystery  of  being  entirely  consistent  with 
reason,  you  think  that  very  remarkable !  Forgive  me, 
Miss  Ljmde,  if  I  say  that  I  find  your  opinion  quite  as 
remarkable  as  you  can  find  my  faith." 

She  blushed,  but  answered  haughtily:  "  That  may 
be.  It  was  no  doubt  presumptuous  of  me  to  express 
any  opinion  on  the  subject.  I  really  don't  know  why 
I  did  it,  except  that  I  was  so  much  surprised,  in  the 
first  place  by  the  fact  that  you  had  thought  of  the 
matter,  and  in  the  second  place  by  the  avowal  which 
vexed  your  uncle." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  vexed  him,"  said  Earle, 
quietly;  "but  he  is  too  much  of  a  philosopher  to 
allow  it  to  trouble  him  long  —  indeed  I  have  no  idea 
that  it  has  troubled  him  at  all." 

She  did  not  answer,  but  the  expression  in  her  eyes 
was  one  of  so  much  wonder  that  lie  smiled.  "  What 
is  it  now?  "  he  asked.  "  What  are  you  still  surprised 
at?" 

"  I  hardly  like  to  tell  you,"  she  replied.  "  I  feel 
as  if  I  had  already  said  too  much  —  " 

"By  no  means.  I  like  frankness,  of  all  things; 
especially  if  I  may  be  allowed  to  imitate  it." 

She  smiled  in  spite  of  herself.  "  That,"  she  said, 
'*  is  certainly  as  little  as  one  could  allow.  Well,  then, 
1    confess   that  I  do  not  understand  why  you  should 


FAIEY    GOLD.  167 

refuse  to  accept  the  fortune  which  Mr.  Singleton 
evidently  wishes  si>  much  to  give  j'ou.  Have  you 
conscientious  scruples  against  holding  wealth?" 

"  Not  the  faintest.     I  would  accept  a  million,  if  it 
came  to  me   unfettered   by  conditions    which   would 
make  even  a  million  too  dearly  bought." 
"Such  as—?" 

"  What  my  uncle  asks  — that  I  give  up  everything 
which  interests  me  in  life,  and  devote  m}  self  to  him  as 
long  as  he  lives." 

"  But  he  cannot  live  long.  And  then  — ' 
"  Then  I  should  be  a  rich  man.  But,  as  it  chances, 
I  do  not  care  about  being  a  rich  man.  Money  can 
not  buy  anything  wliich  1  desire.  It  cannot  give  me 
the  proficiency  in  art  which  must  be  won  by  long  and 
hard  study." 

"  It  would  make  that  study  unnecessary." 
"  Unnecessary !  "  He  glanced  at  her  with  something 
of  her  own  wonder,  dashed  by  faint  scorn.     "  Do  you 
think  that  I  consider  making  money  the  end  of  my 
art?     So  far  from  that,   I  would  starve  in  a  garret 
sooner  than  lower  my  standard  for  such  an  object. 
And,  insensibly  perhaps,  I  should  lower  it  if  I  had  a 
great  deal  of  money.     No  man  can  answer  for  himself. 
Therefore,  I  have  no  desire  to  be  tempted.    And  I  re- 
peat that  money  can  buy  nothing  which  I  value  most.' 
"  Do  you  not  value  power?     It  can  buy  that." 
"  In  a  very  poor  form.     I  am  not  sure  that  I  should 
care  for  it  in  its  best  form,  but  certainly  not  in  that 
which  money  buys." 

"  Money  is  the  lever  which  moves  the  world,"  she 
said  ;  "  and  it  is  only  because  you  have  never  known 
the  real  want  of  it  that  you  hold  it  so  lightly." 


1(;H  FAluy   GOLD. 

'•  I  have  sometimes  thought  that  myself,"  he  re- 
plied. "It  is  true  that  only  a  starving  man  properly 
appreciates  bread.  I  have  never  starved,  and  it  may 
be  tliat  I  am  not  properly  grateful  for  mine;  but, 
at  least,  I  try  neither  to  undervalue  nor  overvalue 
it." 

"Some  day,"  she  said,  "you  may  find  an  object 
which  money  would  have  helped  you  to  gain,  and 
then  you  will  regret  the  folly  —  forgive  me  if  I  speak 
plainly  —  which  threw  away  such  a  great  power." 

"  I  should  have  to  change  very  much,"  he  replied, 
"  before  I  could  care  for  any  object  which  money 
would  help  me  to  gain." 

"There  is  nothing  more  likely  than  that  you  will 
change  on  that  point.  If  there  is  anything  that  life 
teaches,  it  is  that  there  is  scarcely  a  single  object 
which  money  will  not  help  us  to  gain." 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  curious  surprise,  which  he 
did  not  attempt  to  conceal.  "  Forgive  me,"  he  said, 
"if  I  speak  too  plainly;  but  there  is  a  remarkable 
want  of  harmony  between  your  appearance  and  your 
utterances.  If  one  listened  with  closed  eyes,  one 
might  fancy  that  a  man  of  fifty  spoke  in  behalf  of  the 
god  to  whom  he  had  devoted  his  life.  But  when  one 
looks  at  you — " 

"You  are  surprised  that  such  sentiments  should 
come  from  one  who  ought  to  be  ignorant  of  every 
reality  of  hfe,"  she  observed,  coolly,  as  he  paused. 
"But  I  learned  something  about  those  reaUties  at  a 
very  early  age.  I  know  how  the  want  of  mouey  has 
embittered  my  life;  I  know  how  it  lavs  on  me  now 
fetters  under  which  I  chafe ;  and  therefore,  by  right 
of  th^  experience  which  you  lack,  I  tell  you  that  you 


FAIBV    GOLD.  169 

will  live  to  regret  the  loss  of  the  fortune  you  are 
throwing  away," 

"  No  man  can  speak  with  absolute  certainty  of  the 
future ;  but,  if  1  know  myself  at  all,  I  do  not  think  I 
shall  ever  regret  it." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  slightly.  "  In  that 
case  you  will  be  an  extraordinary  man,"  she  said. 
"  But  I  feel  as  if  I  should  beg  your  pardon  for  having 
fallen  into  such  a  personal  vein  of  discussion." 

"  I  do  not  think  that  the  responsibility  rests  with 
you,"  he  answered.  "But  if  you  consider  that  you 
owe  me  an  apology,  I  can  point  out  an  immediate  way 
to  make  amends.  Ever  since  you  have  been  standing 
there,  I  have  been  longing  to  make  a  sketch  of  you. 
Will  you  allow  me  to  do  so?  " 

''Certainly,"  she  said,  smiling;  for  the  request 
flattered  her  vanity. 

So,  while  she  stood  in  the  sunshine  and  shadow, 
a  charming  picture  of  youth  and  grace,  he  sketched 
her,  feeling  with  every  stroke  the  true  artist  apprecia- 
tion of  her  beauty ;  and  more  and  more  surprised  at 
her  intelligence  as  they  talked  of  art  and  literature, 
of  people  and  events,  while  time  flew  by  unheeded. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Singleton  was  certainly  wroth  with 
his  favorite.  The  latter' s  change  of  I'ehgion  —  or,  to 
be  more  correct,  his  choice  of  religion  —  was  the  last 
of  many  offenses ;  and  the  old  man  said  to  himself 
that,  so  far  as  he  was  concerned,  it  should  indeed  be 
the  last.  "  The  boy  is  a  fool,  besides  being  obstinate 
and  ungrateful !  "  he  thought,  with  what  he  felt  to  be 
righteous  indignation,  and  which  (knowing  his  own 
weakness  in  regard  to  Earie)  he  strove  to  encourage 
and  fan  into  enduring  anger.     "  But  I  am  glad  I  have 


170  FAIRY    GOLD. 

discovered  this  in  time  —  very  glad !  Though  he  has 
refused  so  positively  to  do  anything  that  I  wish,  there 
is  no  telling  what  weakness  I  might  have  been  guilty 
of  when  it  came  to  the  point  of  making  my  will.  But 
now  I  am  safe.  My  money  shall  never  go  into  the 
hands  of  the  Jesuits  —  that  I  am  resolved  upon. 
And,  of  course,  they  would  soon  obtain  it  from  Brian, 
who  has  no  appreciation  whatever  of  its  value.  Yes, 
my  mind  is  settled  at  last  on  that  score.  He  shall 
never  inherit  anything  from  me  ;  but  where  on  earth 
am  I  to  find  a  satisfactory  legatee  to  take  his  place?  " 

The  consideration  of  this  question,  and  the  difficulty 
of  answering  it,  produced  in  old  Mr..  Singleton  a  state 
of  temper  which  made  life  a  burden,  for  the  time 
being,  to  all  his  personal  attendants.  While  Earle  was 
philosophically  setting  forth  his  views  to  Marion  at 
the  bottom  of  the  garden,  the  valet  and  the  nurse 
were  having  a  very  hard  time  in  getting  the  fractious 
invalid  ready  for  the  day;  and  when  he  was  finally  es- 
tablished in  his  sitting-room,  he  probably  remembered 
tlie  soothing  power  of  music,  and  asked  for  Miss  Lynde. 

Diligent  search  having  revealed  the  fact  that  Miss 
Lynde  was  not  in  the  house,  Mr.  Singleton  wanted  to 
know  if  any  one  could  tell  liim  where  she  had  gone. 
Mrs.  Singleton,  being  interrogated,  professed  utter 
ignorance ;  but  one  of  the  maids  volunteered  the  in- 
formation that  from  an  upper  window  she  had  seen 
Miss  Lynde  in  the  garden  with  Mr.  Earle.  That  had 
l)cen  an  hour  before.  "Go  to  the  same  window  and  see 
if  she  is  there  yet,"  ordered  Mr.  Singleton  when  this 
was  communicated  to  him.  Observation  duly  made, 
and  a  report  brought  to  him  tliat  she  was  still  there, 
"  Shall  I  send  for  her,  sir?  "  inquired  his  servant. 


FAIRY   GOLD.  l7l 

"  No,"  snapped  the  irate  old  gentleman.  "  Wbat 
do  you  mean  by  such  a  question?  "Why  should  I  wish 
to  disturb  Miss  Lynde?  I  simply  desired  to  satisfy 
myself  where  she  was.  When  she  comes  in,  let  her 
know  that  I  would  like  to  see  her." 

Left  alone  then,  he  opened  his  newspapers  witli  a 
softening  of  the  lines  about  his  mouth.  After  all,  a 
way  might  be  found  of  managing  Brian.  The  influence 
of  a  beautiful  woman  might  accomplish  what  his  own 
influence  had  failed  to  do.  Marion  would  make  a 
capital  wife  for  the  young  man.  "  Just  the  wife  he 
needs,"  thought  Mr.  Singleton.  "  A  woman  of  am- 
bition, of  cleverness,  and  of  worldly  knowledge  quite 
remarkable  in  one  so  young.  No  danger  of  he)'  under- 
valuing money,  and  the  Jesuit  would  be  very  sharp 
who  could  get  it  from  her.  Why  did  I  not  think  of 
this  before?  Of  course  he  will  fall  in  love  with  her  — 
what  man  could  avoid  doing  so?  —  and,  in  that  event, 
everytbin-T  can  be  arranged.  She  will  bring  him  to  my 
terms  soon  enough." 

These  reflections  had  so  soothing  an  effect  upon  his 
temper  that  when  Marion  came  in,  and  was  told  by 
Mrs.  Singleton  that  he  (with  a  significant  gesture 
toward  the  apartment  of  the  person  indicated)  was  in 
the  mood  of  a  tiger,  and  demanding  her  presence,  she 
was  most  agreeably  surprised  at  being  received  with 
extreme  kindness. 

"lam  told  you  have  been  asking  for  me.  I  am 
sorry  to  have  been  out  of  the  way,"  she  said. 

"  I  wanted  to  ask  you  to  sing  for  me,"  he  replied. 
"  My  nerves  are  in  an  irritated  state  this  morning,  and 
I  felt  as  if  your  voice  might  soothe  them.  But  I  am 
not  unreasonable  enough  to  expect  you  to  be  always 


172  FAIRY    GOLD. 

on  hand  to  gratify  my  fancies.      It  was  well  that  you 
were  out  enjoviug  this  beautiful  morning." 

"  I  was  only  in  the  garden.  You  might  have  sent 
for  me.  I  should  have  been  delighud  to  come  and 
sing  for  you.     Shall  I  do  so  now?  " 

"  After  a  little.  Sit  down  and  let  me  talk  to  you 
for  a  few  minutes.  I  suppose  you  can  imagine  wliat 
it  is  that  gave  me  a  particularly  had  night,  and  has 
set  my  nerves  on  edge  this  morning?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  that  it  is  worry,"  said  Marion,  sitting 
down  near  him.  "  You  did  not  like  what  Mr.  Eaile 
said  last  night." 

"  I  certainly  did  not  like  it.  The  announcement  he 
made  was  a  great  surprise  to  me  and  a  great  shock. 
Under  any  circumstances,  I  should  be  sorry  for  an \ 
one  in  whom  I  felt  an  interest  to  take  such  a  step ; 
but  you  are  probably  aware  that  I  have  felt  a  peculiar 
interest  in  Brian." 

"  I  have  heard  that  your  intentions  toward  him 
have  been  most  kind." 

"I  have  desired  that  he  shall  take  with  me  the 
place  of  a  son.  I  have  asked  him  to  accept  the  duties 
of  such  a  position  — duties  that  would  not  he  very 
heavy, —  and  I  have  promised  that,  in  return,  he  shall 
inhei'it  everything  that  is  mine.  Do  you  think  that 
an  unreasonable  proposal?  " 

"  Very  far  from  it,"  answered  Marion.  "  I  think 
it  most  reasonable  and  most  kind.  I  can  not  under- 
stand how  he  can  hesitate  over  it." 

"  He  does  not  hesitate,"  said  Mr.  Singleton,  bit- 
terly: "  he  refuses  it.  After  that  I  ought  to  be  will- 
ing to  let  him  go ;  but  the  truth  of  the  matter  is,  I 
have  no  one   to  take  his  place.     He  is  not  only  my 


FAIBY    GOLD.  173 

nearest  relative,  but  there  is  something  about  him 
that  attaches  one  to  him  despite  one's  self.  My 
dear"  —  he  looked  wistfully,  yet  keenly,  into  the 
be-autiful  face, —  "  it  has  occurred  to  me  that  perhaps 
you  might  have  some  influence  over  him." 

"  I !  "  exclaimed  Marion.  For  a  moment  her  sur- 
prise was  so  great  that  she  could  say  nothing  more. 
Then,  with  the  realization  of  liis  meaning,  a  wave  of 
color  came  into  her  face.  "  1  have  no  reason  to  sup- 
pose that  I  have  the  least  influence  with  Mr.  Earle," 
she  said.  "  If  I  had,  I  would  gladly  use  it  for  the 
ends  about  which  you  are  so  anxious." 

"  I  am  sure  of  that,"  observed  Mr.  Singleton,  sig- 
nificantly. "  Well,  all  I  can  say  is  that  nothing  would 
please  me  more  than  for  you  to  acquire  such  influence. 
If  you  should  acquire  it,  and  if  you  should  consent  to 
use  it  always,  I  would  be  a  very  delighted  old  man. 
You  understand  me,  I  see,  so  I  need  say  no  more. 
Now  go  and  sing  for  me." 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

MR.  SINGLETON  was  wise  enough  to  remain 
satisfied  with  having  expressed  his  wishes  to 
Marion.  He  said  nothing  to  Earle,  having  a 
general  conviction  that  "  in  vain  is  the  snare  spread  in 
sight  of  any  bird,"  and  a  knowledge  of  this  particular 
bird  which  warned  him  to  be  cautious.  But  the  idea 
which  had  occurred  to  him  seemed  so  likely  to  produce 
the  desired  result,  that  he  was  greatly  encouraged  by 
it,  and  his  manner  to  his  nephew  was  so  different  from 
what  Mrs.  Singleton  had  anticipated,  that  she  said  to 
herself  with  mucli  chagrin  that  Tom  was  right  after 
all,  and  she  had  gained  nothing  by  the  disclosure  she 
had  brought  about. 

Earle  himself  was  pleased  that  his  uncle  showed  no 
coldness  of  feeling  toward  liim.  He  had  fully  ex- 
pected this ;  and,  while  the  anticipation  had  not 
troubled  him  in  any  serious  manner,  he  was  relieved 
to  find  that  he  was  to  be  spared  that  sense  of  aliena- 
tion which  is  always  a  trial  to  a  person  of  sensitive 
feelings. 

What  he  would  have  thought  had  his  uncle  at  this 
time  frankly  avowed  to  him  the  plan  he  had  conceived, 
it  is  not  difficult  to  imagine.  What  he  would  have 
done  is  no  less  easy  to  conjecture.  But,  left  in  igno- 
rance, and  exposed  to  an  association  which  would  have 
(174) 


FAIBY    GOLD.  175 

had  attractions  for  any  one,  be  unconsciou-^ly  drifted 
toward  a  posili  ii  destined  to  lead  to  serious  results. 
For  while  Marion  repelled  she  also  attracted  him, 
through  the  interest  he  felt  in  a  character  so  strongly 
marked  for  good  or  for  evil,  and  by  the  very  frankness 
with  which  she  displayed  traits  and  expressed  senti- 
ments with  which  he  had  little  sympatliy.  "It  is  a 
fine  character  warped  and  distorted,"  he  said  to 
himself.  "  Good  influences  might  do  much  with  it. 
What  a  pity  if  she  drifts  deeper  into  the  worldliness 
that  now  attracts  her  so  greatly !  For  there  is  nothing 
frivolous  about  her,  and  she  will  find  in  the  end  that 
none  but  frivolous  people  can  be  contented  with  the 
things  for  which  she  longs." 

Now,  there  are  a  few  people  who,  brought  into  con- 
tact with  a  character  of  which  they  think  in  this  man- 
ner, do  not  feel  inclined  to  exert  the  influence  that 
they  believe  would  be  beneficial.  And  how  much 
more  when  the  person  on  whom  it  is  to  be  exerted 
is  a  young,  a  beautiful  and  a  clever  woman ! 
Whether  he  approved  of  her  or  not,  Earle  could  not 
fail  to  find  Marion  a  stimulating  and  agreeable  com- 
panion. The  absence  of  effort  to  attract  ■ —  for  she 
was  far  too  proud  to  make  this  —  lulled  to  rest  any 
fear  of  the  result  of  such  an  association  to  himself ; 
and  their  morning  conversation  in  the  garden  was  the 
beginning  of  an  intercourse  which  grew  daily  more 
pleasant  on  both  sides. 

Mr.  Singleton  had  been  the  first  to  see  the  probable 
end,  but  it  was  not  long  before  others  foresaw  it  also. 
"  I  told  you  that  girl  would  betray  us,"  said  Mrs. 
Singleton  to  her  husband.  "  She  means  to  marry 
Brian  Earle  and  take  our  place.     That  is  clear." 


176  FAIRY    GOLD. 

"  But  there  may  be  two  words  to  that,"  said  the 
gentleman  addressed.  "Brian  may  not  intend  to 
many  her.  He  was  talking  of  his  plans  to  me  while 
we  were  smoking  last  night,  and  there  was  not  a  word 
of  marrying  in  them." 

'•  That  much  for  his  plans!  "  said  Mrs.  Singleton, 
with  a  slight,  contemptuous  gesture.  "  They  will 
soon  be  whatever  Marion  Lynde  chooses.  When  a 
woman  like  lier  makes  up  her  mind  to  marry  a  man, 
she  will  succeed.     You  may  be  sure  of  that." 

'•  Rather  a  bad  lookout  for  men,  in  such  a  case," 
returned  Mr.  Singleton.  "  Only  if  the  power  is 
limited  to  women  like  Miss  Lynde,  one  might  bear  it 
With  philosophy." 

His  wife  gave  him  a  look  compounded  of  scorn  and 
irritation.  "  There  is  not  much  doubt  what  you  would 
do  in  Brian  Earle's  place.  That  girl  seems  to  turn  the 
head  of  every  man  she  comes  in  contact  with.  I  am 
sure  I  wish  I  had  never  heard  of  her!  " 

"  1  fancy  Rathborne  wishes  the  same  thing," 
observed  Mr.  Singleton.  "I  never  s^w  a  man  so 
changed  ns  he  is  of  late ;  I  met  him  yesterday,  and 
I  was  struck  by  his  moody  looks." 

Mrs.  Singleton  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  I  have 
no  compassion  to  spare  for  him.  A  man  who  has  been 
such  a  fool  as  he  has,  deserves  to  suffer.  But  we 
have  (lone  nothing  to  deserve  to  be  supplanted  in  this 
way." 

"Well,"  said  the  more  reasonable  husband,  "  it  is 
hardly  just  to  talk  of  being  'supplanted.'  The  old 
fellow  has  always  been  very  frank  with  me,  an<l  in- 
sisted there  should  be  no  room  for  misconception. 
We  have  an  agreeable  home  without  any  expense  to 


FAIBY    GOLD.  177 

oiarsclves,  hut  he  has  always  told  me  th:it  he  did  not 
bind  himself  to  leave  me  anything  at  all." 

"  Of  couise  he  would  not  bhid  himsi  If ;  but  if  Brian 
refu'^es  to  be  Lis  heir  —  and  that  is  what  his  conduct 
heretofore  amounts  to, —  whose  chance  should  be 
better  than  yours?  " 

"  Really  it  is  hard  to  say.  Who  can  acconiit  for 
the  w'bims  of  rich  old  men?  He  may  cut  us  all  off, 
and  leave  his  fortune  to  Miss  Lynde." 

"If  I  thought  so,"  said  Mrs.  Singleton,  fiercely^ 
"  I  would  murder  her —  " 

"  Come,  Anna,  that  is  beyond  a  joke  !  " 

"  Or  myself,  for  having  brought  her  to  his  notice." 

"  Defer  both  murders  until  you  find  out  whether 
there  is  any  need  for  them,"  said  her  provoking  hus- 
band.    And  then  he  beat  a  hasty  retreat. 

But  even  he,  now  that  his  eyes  Avere  opened,  began 
to  perceive  the  extreme  probability  of  all  that  his 
wife  suggested.  There  was  no  doubt  of  the  fact  that 
Marion  and  Earle  were  constantly  together,  that  they 
seemed  to  find  much  gratification  in  each  other's 
society,  and  that  Mr.  Singleton  (this  was  patent  lo  the 
must  careless  observation)  looked  on  approvingly  at 
their  growing  intimacy.  "The  old  fellow  wants  to 
see  the  thing  brought  about,"  said  Tom  Singleton  to 
himtelf.  "  lie  thinks  it  would  tie  Brinn  down,  and 
that  a  wife  with  such  ideas  would  soon  cure  him  of  his 
contempt  fur  riches.  Well,  he's  right  enough;  and 
since  it  is  most  likely  to  come  about,  Anna  and  I  may 
make  up  our  minds  that  our  day  is  nearly  over.  We 
shall  soon  have  to  step  down  to  make  room  for  Mrs. 
Brian  Earle." 

The  young  lady  designated  in  advance  by  this  title 

12 


178  FAIRY    GOLD. 

"was  herself  entirely  of  his  opinion.  At  this  time  a 
rosy  vista  opened  before  her.  She  felt  that  all  which 
she  most  desired  was  within  her  grasp.  And  yet  not 
exactly  in  the  manner  she  had  anticipated.  For, 
much  as  she  had  always  longed  for  the  power  which 
wealth  gives,  it  had  not  been  her  dream  to  obtain 
wealth  by  marriage.  That  seemed  to  her  a  means  too 
commonplace,  and  also  too  degrading.  It  was  to  be 
won  through  her  own  effort,  her  own  cleverness,  in 
some  manner  as  vaguely  outlined  as  a  fairy-tale.  But 
she  was  too  shrewd  not  to  perceive,  after  a  very  brief 
acquaintance  with  life,  that  for  a  young  girl,  without 
some  special  and  brilliant  talent,  to  hope  to  make  a 
fortune  was  as  reasonable  as  if  she  had  thought  of 
building  a  tower  with  her  own  hands.  She  realized, 
then,  that  it  was  a  wonderful  prospect  which  opened 
before  her,  as  if  by  the  stroke  of  an  enchantress'  wand, 
in  the  fancy  of  Mr.  Singleton  for  herself,  and  in  the 
fact  that  Eai'le  excited  her  regard  in  a  degree  she  had 
hardly  imagined  possible.  Once,  with  mocking  cyni- 
cism, she  had  asked  of  Helen,  "  Do  you  think  such 
good  fortune  ever  befalls  one,  as  that  the  man  one 
could  love  is  also  the  man  it  is  expedient  for  one  to 
marry?  "  And  now  that  good  fortune,  so  utterly  dis- 
believed in,  had  befallen  herself ! 

For  the  very  things  in  which  Earle  was  least  like 
herself  attracted  her  most.  He  was  an  embodiment  of 
ideas  which,  abstractly,  were  too  exalted  for  her  to 
reach.  His  faith,  his  unworldliness,  his  devotion  to 
noble  ends, —  all  touched  the  higher  side  of  her  own 
nature,  like  strains  of  heroic  poetry.  Under  his  im- 
mediate influence,  she  began  to  change  in  a  manner  as 
strange  as  it  was  significant.  Keen  eyes  noted  this,  and 


FAIBT   GOLD.  179 

Mrs.  Singleton  said  to  herself  that  the  girl  was  capable 
of  playing  any  part,  even  of  pretending  to  be  quixotic 
and  unworldl}'.  But  in  this  she  did  her  injustice. 
With  all  its  great  faults,  Marion's  character  possessed 
the  saving  salt  of  sincerity,  and  she  was  absolutely 
incapable  of  playing  a  part  for  any  purpose  whatever. 
The  change  in  her  just  now  was  real;  there  only  re- 
mained a  question  whether  or  not  it  were  deep, — 
whether  human  love  alone  were  great  enough  to  work 
the  miracle  of  regenerating  a  nature  into  which  world- 
liness  had  struck  such  strong  roots. 

The  test  was  not  long  delayed.  As  the  time  for 
Earle's  visit  drew  to  a  close,  he  began  to  realize  how 
decidedly  he  had  suffered  himself  to  be  drawn  toward 
this  girl,  whom  his  judgment  at  first  so  greatly  disap- 
proved, and  whom  it  could  not  even  yet  altogether 
approve ;  although  he  was  not  blind  to  the  change  in 
her  wrouglitby  his  influence, —  a  change  which  uncon- 
sciousl}^  flattered  him,  as  any  proof  of  power  flatters 
this  poor  human  nature  of  ours.  He  found,  somewhat 
to  his  dismay,  that  he  was  more  attached  to  l:er  than 
lie  had  been  aware  of,  but  he  had  no  intention  of  de- 
claring liis  feeling.  Judgment  was  still  too  much  -.a-- 
ra\  ed  :igaiust  it.  And  this  being  so,  he  resisted  the 
temptation  to  prolong  his  visit,  and  adhen  d  to  the 
original  date  set  for  his  departure.  Now,  since  this 
departure  was  not  only  to  be  from  Scarliorough,  but 
from  America,  Mr.  Singleton  was  very  anxious  that  it 
should  be  pievented,  and  he  watched  with  gi'owing 
anxiety  thu  iuiimacy  with  Marion,  from  which  he  hoped 
so  much. 

"  My  dear,"  he  said  to  her  one  day  when  they  w-ere 
alone  together,  and  she  had  been  singing  for  him,  "  I 


180  FAIEY    GOLD. 

wish  you  would  exert  your  influence  with  Brian  to 
kee[)  iiim  from  going  abroad.  It  would  be  much  better 
that  he  should  remain  here." 

"There  can  be  no  doubt  of  that,"  she  replied. 
"  But  you  mistake  in  thinking  that  I  have  any  influence 
with  him.     If  I  had,  I  would  use  it  as  you  desire." 

"  I  am  afraid,"  he  observed,  "  that  you  underrate 
your  influence.  I  think  you  have  more  than  j'ou 
suppose." 

"No,"  she  said,  "  I  have  always  been  accustomed 
to  influencing  those  around  me,  and  therefore  I  know 
very  well  when  1  fail  to  do  so.  I  fail  with  Mr.  Earle. 
He  has  no  respect  for  my  opinion,  as  indeed"—  with 
unwonted  humility — "  why  should  he  have?  " 

The  man  of  the  world  uttered  a  contemptuous 
laugh.  "  Do  you  really,  with  all  your  cleverness, 
know  so  little  of  men  as  to  fancy  that  respect  for  :> 
woman's  opinion  is  a  necessary  part  of  her  influence?  " 
he  asked. 

"With  most  men  I  suppose  it  is  not,"  she  an- 
swered; "but  with  Mr.  Earle  it  is.  I  am  sure  of 
that,  and  also  sure  that  I  should  not  care  to  influence 
a  man  who  had  no  respect  for  my  opinion." 

'•  That  opinion  is  not  worthy  of  your  good  sense," 
said  Mr.  Singleton.  "  It  does  not  matter  at  all  how 
one  influences  people,  so  that  one  actually  does  manage 
to  influence  them.    The  important  point  is  to  succeed." 

"  Have  you  found  it  an  easy  tliing  to  succeed  with 
Mr.  Earle?"  asked  Marion,  a  little  maliciously. 

"Very  far  from  it,"  replied  Mr.  Singleton. 
"  There  is  only  one  way  to  influence  him,  and  that  is 
through  his  affections.  For  one  to  whom  he  is 
attached,  he  will  do  much." 


FAIBY   GOLD.  181 

The  last  words  were  so  significant  that  Marion 
colortd  and  said  no  more.  But  slie  determined,  that 
she  would  test  whether  or  not  they  were  true,  since  she 
had  by  this  time  little  doubt  of  Earle's  sentiments 
toward  her. 

She  had  not  long  to  wait  for  an  opportunity.  The 
next  morning  Earle  asked  if  she  would  not  go  with 
him  to  complete  a  sketch  that  he  was  making  of  a  bit 
of  woodland  scenery  near  the  house.  "  A  morning's 
work  will  finish  it,"  he  said.  "  And  since  I  shall  not 
have  many  more  mornings,  if  you  care  to  come,  I  shall 
be  very  glad." 

"•  You  know  I  always  like  to  come,"  she  answered. 
"  It  is  interesting  to  me  to  watch  your  work.  I  feel  as 
if  I  were  witnessing  the  process  of  creation." 

"You  are  witnesshig  a  process  of  creation,"  he 
said.  "  Art  is  a  ray  of  the  divine  genius  which  created 
nature,  and,  in  its  degree,  it  is  creative  also.  That  is 
the  secret  of  its  great  fascination." 

"  It  certainly  seems  to  possess  a  great  fascination 
for  you,"  she  said,  as  he  slung  his  color-box  over  his 
shoulder  and  they  set  forth. 

''Do  you  wonder  at  it?"  he  asked,  with  a  quick 
glance. 

"No;  I  do  not  wonder  at  the  fascination,"  she 
replied.  "  I  only  wonder  that  you  think  it  right  to 
sacrifice  everything  else  to  it." 

"  What  do  1  sacrifice  to  it?  "  he  asked.  "  A  little 
money  for  which  I  have  no  use.     Is  not  that  all?  " 

She  shook  her  head.  "  By  no  means  all.  You 
sacrifice  the  dearest  wish  of  your  uncle,  who  is  de- 
voted to  you  —  the  power  of  giving  him  great  pleas- 
ure,    and  the  power  also  of   doing   much  good  with 


182  FAIBY    GOLD. 

the  money  you  despise.     Have  you  ever  thought  of 
that?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  "I  have  thought  of  it  all. 
I  have  seriously  asked  myself  if  there  is  any  duty 
demanding  that  I  should  comply  with  his  wishes,  and 
I  have  decided  that  there  is  none.  He  is  certainly 
attached  to  me,  but  I  think  that  his  attachment  rests 
very  much  on  the  fact  that  he  can  not  control  me  as 
he  is  accustomed  to  control  most  people.  There  is  no 
real  congeniality  of  sentiment  between  us.  He  is  a 
man  of  the  world ;  I  am  a  man  to  whom  the  world 
counts  very  little.  I  can  not  feign  interest  in  the 
things  which  interest  him,  and  he  scorns  all  that  most 
deeply  interests  me.  Under  these  circumstances, 
what  pleasure  to  either  of  us  would  be  gained  by 
closer  association?  And  you  know  it  is  out  of  my 
power  to  do  him  any  real  service." 

"I  am  not  sure  of  that,"  said  Marion.  "  I  think 
you  scarcely  appreciate  either  his  strong  attachment 
to  you  or  his  strong  desire  that  you  should  remain 
with  him." 

"Has  he  been  asking  you  to  be  his  advocate?" 
said  Earle,  with  a  smile.  "  It  sounds  very  much  as 
if  he  had  " 

"  He  has  been  talking  to  me  of  the  matter,"  she 
answered.  "  You  know  it  is  very  near  his  heart,  and 
he  speaks  to  me  more  freely  than  to  you  ;  for,  nat- 
urally, he  is  wounded  by  your  refusal,  and  is  too 
proud  to  acknowledge  to  you  how  much  he  cares." 

"  And  he  thinks,  no  doubt,  that  what  you  say  will 
have  a  weight  which  his  words  lack." 

"  There  is  no  reason  why  he  should  think  so,"  said 
Marlon,  rather  proudly. 


FAIEY   GOLD.  183 

They  had  by  this  time  reached  the  place  of  their 
destination ;  and,  as  he  put  down  the  portable  easel 
which  he  carried,  she  turned  away,  saying  to  herself 
that  it  was  indeed  true  —  there  was  no  reason  why 
any  one  should  think  that  her  words  had  the  least 
weight  with  this  immovable  man.  Some  hot  tears  of 
mortification  gathered  in  her  eyes.  Slie  had  hoped 
for  a  different  result,  and  the  disappointment,  from 
the  proof  of  her  own  lack  of  power,  was  greater  than 
she  had  anticipated.  She  bent  down  to  gather  some 
ferns  on  the  bank  of  a  little  stream  which  flowed 
through  the  glen,  and  when  she  rose  Earle  was  stand- 
ing beside  her. 

"  I  fear  that  perhaps  you  misunderstood  my  last 
words,"  he  said,  with  grave  gentleness.  "  I  did  not 
mean  to  imply  that  my  uncle  was  mistaken  in  thinking 
that  what  you  say  would  have  great  weight  with  me. 
He  is  too  shrewd  not  to  be  sure  of  that.  I  only  gave 
him  credit  for  choosing  his  advocate  well.  For  you 
must  know  that  what  you  wish  has  great  influence 
with  me." 

"Why  should  I  know  it?"  said  Marion,  in  a  low 
tone. 

"Because,"  he  answered,  "  you  must  know  that  I 
love  you." 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

AVERY  gratified  man  was  Mr.  Singleton  wlien 
he  heard  how  matters  stood  between  Marion 
and  his  nephew.  Indeed,  with  regard  to  the 
latter,  his  feeling  was  chiefly  one  of  exultation.  ' '  Now 
I  have  you!  "  he  said  to  himself;  and  it  was  witii 
difficulty  that  he  refrained  from  uttering  this  senti- 
ment when  Earle  announced  the  fact  of  his  engagement. 
What  he  did  say  was : — 

"  I  am  delighted,  my  dear  boy  —  delighted!  You 
could  not  have  pleased  me  better.  Miss  Lynde  is  a 
girl  to  do  credit  to  any  man's  taste,  and  to  any  posi- 
tion to  which  she  may  be  raised.  Her  family  is  unex- 
ce|)tionable ;  and  as  for  fortune — well,  j^ou  have  no 
need  to  think  of  that." 

Brian  smiled.  "  I  have  not  thought  of  it,"  he  said  ; 
"  but  I  fear  she  may  think  a  little  of  the  fact  that  I 
have  not  much  to  offer  her.  To  become  the  wife  of  a 
struggling  artist  is  not  a  very  brilliant  prospect  for  one 
of  her  ambition." 

Mr.  Singleton  frowned.  So,  after  all,  the  thing  had 
not  settled  itself,  but  was  to  be  fought  over  again ! 
"  You  must  surely  be  jesting  when  you  speak  of  such 
a  prospect  for  her,"  he  observed.  "You  must  feel 
that  marriage  brings  responsibility  with  it ;  and  that, 
(184) 


PAlIiY   GOLD.  l8o 

since  the  future  of  this  charming  girl  is  bound  up  with 
your  own,  you  can  no  longer  afford  to  indulge  in 
capiices." 

"I  do  not  think  that  1  have  ever  indulged  in 
caprices,"  replied  Earle.  "  In  settling  my  plan  of  life, 
I  have  followed  what  I  believe  to  be  right,  as  well  as 
what  I  believed  to  be  best.  And  I  have  no  inteniiun 
of  changing  it  now.  IMarion  understands  that  in 
accepting  me,  she  also  accepts  my  life.  1  am  sure  of 
that." 

"  /am  by  no  means  sure  of  it,"  thought  Mr.  Single- 
ton ;  but  he  was  wise  enough  to  say  no  more,  and  bide 
his  time  to  speak  to  Marion. 

"  My  dear,"  he  said  to  her,  as  soon  as  they  were 
alone  together,  "you  know  that  the  arrangi'ment 
between  Brian  and  yourself  meets  with  my  warmest 
approval.  But  it  will  be  of  very  little  good  to  me  per- 
sonally, unless  you  mean  to  use  your  influence  —  for 
you  can  no  longer  say  that  you  possess  none  —  to 
induce  him  to  yield  to  my  wishes.  Unless  he  does  so, 
he  can  expect  nothing  from  me  in  the  future.  And 
that  I  should  regret  for  your  sake  now  as  well  as 
his." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  said  Marion,  who  understood 
all  that  was  irapHed  in  this.  "  Be  certain  that  if  he 
does  not  yield  to  your  wishes,  it  will  not  be  my  fault. 
I  shall  use  all  the  influence  I  possess  to  induce  him  to 
do  so." 

'•  In  that  case  I  have  no  fear,"  said  the  old  man, 
galhintly.     "Who  could  resist  you?" 

A  little  while  before  Marion  would  have  echoed  this 
"wilh  a  profound  conviction  of  her  own  irresistible 
power ;  but  now,  though  she  did  not  dissent  from  it, 


186  FAIRY    GOLD. 

she  had  a  lurkino:  fear  that  Brian  Earle  might  not 
prove  so  elastic  in  her  hands  as  his  uncle  hoped.  As 
yet,  by  tacit  consent,  the  subject  of  their  future  life 
had  been  avoided ;  but  she  knew  that  the  time  would 
come  when  it  must  be  discussed,  and  she  said  to  her- 
self with  passionate  resolution  that  he  should  not  throw 
away  the  fortune  which  was  offered  him,  if  it  were  in 
her  power  to  prevent  it. 

Had  this  resolution  needed  a  spur,  Mrs.  Singleton's 
congratulations  would  have  given  it.  "I  hope  that 
you  will  be  very  happy,"  she  said ;  "  and  I  think  it  is 
very  good  for  me  to  hope  it,  for  you  step  into  my 
place.     Brian  will  not  go  abroad  now." 

"  We  have  not  settled  that  as  yet,"  replied  Marion, 
who  detected  a  questioning  tone  in  the  last  assertion. 

"  I  think  that,  in  3'our  place,  I  should  settle  it  as 
soon  as  possible,"  said  Mrs.  Singleton.  "It  will  be 
pleasanter  for  all  parties.  Although,  of  course, 
Brian's  decision  is  a  foregone  conclusion." 

"You  not  only  hope,  you  believe  the  contrary," 
thought  Marion;  "  but  I  will  show  you  that  you  are 
mistaken." 

Meanwhile  Earle,  unconscious  of  the  struggle  before 
him,  was  thinking  how  much  he  had  misjudged  Ma- 
rion in  believing  her  so  worldly,  since,  knowing  his 
definite  decision  with  regard  to  his  life,  she  was 
yet  willing  to  share  that  life.  The  declaration 
which  he  had  made  was  entirely  unpremeditated  ;  but, 
once  made,  he  did  not  regret  it.  How  indeed 
was  it  possible  to  regret  that  which  brought  immedi- 
ately so  much  happiness  to  himself  and  to  Marion  ? 
And  it  was  too  much  to  expect,  perhaps,  that  he  should 
ask   whether  or  not  this  happiness  rested  on  a  very 


FAIBT   GOLD.  187 

substantial  basis —  whether  there  were  not  elements  in 
it  certain  to  produce  discord  as  time  went  on.  All 
that  was  hard,  haughty  and  worldlj'iu  Marion  seemed, 
for  the  time  being,  to  have  disappeared.  Helen  her- 
self could  hardl}'  have  seemed  more  gentle  and  tender 
to  the  man  she  loved. 

On  the  Sunday  following  their  betrothal,  he  asked 
her  if  she  would  go  with  him  to  church,  and  she 
readil}'  assented.  "I  always  liked  Catholicity,"  she 
said,  as  they  took  their  way  tliitber;  "  and  I  always 
felt  that  if  there  was  truth  in  any  religion,  it  was  in 
that.  All  the  others  are  but  poor  shams  and  imita- 
tions of  it,  and  I  have  had  an  instinctive  scorn  of  them 
ever  since  I  knew  anything  of  the  old  faith.  I  am 
glad,  therefore,  that  you  are  a  Catholic." 

'•Since  I  am  not  an  Agnostic,"  he  said,  laughing. 
"  You  would  have  had  a  higher  opinion  of  my  intel- 
lectual strength  if  I  had  avowed  myself  that,  you 
know." 

She  laughed  too.  "That  was  before  I  understood 
you,"  slie  said;  "and  before  I  understood  the 
grounds  you  had  for  j'our  faith.  But  now  I  know 
that  5-0U  could  be  only  what  you  are." 

"  And  when,"  he  asked,  in  a  tone  suddenly  grown 
grave  and  earnest,  "  will  you  also  be  that?  " 

"How  can  I  tell?"  she  replied.  "Should  not 
faith  be  something  more  than  a  mere  matter  of  intel- 
lectual conviction  ?  " 

"  Faith  is  a  gift  of  God,"  he  said.  "  If  you  are 
willing  to  receive  it,  it  will  not  be  denied  to  you." 

"  I  am  willing  now,"  she  observed.  "  Always, 
heretofore,  I  have  shrunk  from  it.  I  have  felt  the 
fascination  of  Catholicity,  but  I  have  dreaded  what  it 


188  FAIRY   GOLD. 

would  (leraand  from  me.     But  now  I  dread  no  lono-er, 
I  am  willing  to  be  what  you  are." 

He  smiled  slightly,  and,  as  they  had  reached  the 
c''irrch  by  this  time,  extended  his  hand  to  lead  her 
over  the  threshold.  Then  withdrawing  it,  "  There!  " 
he  said;  "I  have  done  my  part — I  have  brought 
30U  within  the  door.     God  must  do  the  rest." 

It  seemed  to  Marion,  as  she  knelt  by  him  during 
Miiss,  as  if  God  were  doing  this.  Her  heart  opcu'  d 
to  the  influences  around  her  as  it  had  never  opened 
before.  The  Holy  Sacrifice  had  a  meaning  for  her 
which  it  had  never,  up  to  this  time,  possessed  ;  she 
forgot  the  plainness  and  bareness  of  the  chnpi-I,  the 
unfashionable  appearance  of  the  people,  in  her  con- 
sciousness of  the  Divine  Reality  before  her  on  the 
altar.  And  when  the  priest,  addressing  the  pioplo  at 
the  end  of  Mass,  spoke  in  plain  and  forcible  langu-ige 
of  the  truths  of  faith,  her  mind  replied  b}'  an  assenting 
Credo. 

But  as  he  turned  to  preach,  Father  Byrne  received 
a  shock  of  unpleasant  surprise  in  perceiving  INIarions 
face  by  Brian  Earle's  side.  He  had  not  seen  or  heard 
of  her  since  the  occurrences  which  had  ended  Helen's 
engagement.  He  had  not  been  aware  tliat  she  still 
remained  in  Scarborough  after  her  aunt's  de[)arture ; 
hut  he  had  met  Earle,  and  liked  the  young  man  so 
much  that  this  unexpected  appearance  bf-itle  him  of 
the  iiirl  who  had  destroyed  her  cousin's  happiness, 
seemed  to  him  a  conjunction  that  boded  no  good.  The 
sight  distracted  him  so  much  that  he  hesitated  over 
the  oi)ening  words  of  his  sermon.  Tlie  liesitation  was 
only  momentary:  he  took  a  firm  grasp  of  his  subject, 
and  began  ;  but  whenever  his  glance  fell  on  those  two 


FAIEY    GOLD.  189 

faces  in  one  of  the  front  pews,  he  said  to  himself, 
"Poor  3'Oiing  man!  "  and  asked  himself  if,  knowing 
what  he  did,  he  should  offer  a  warning  to  the  object 
of  his  commiseration. 

After  Mass,  giving  the  question  some  thought,  he 
decided  that  if  the  opportunity  for  it  arose,  he  would 
speak  to  Earle  on  the  subject ;  but  that  he  would  take 
no  ste[)s  to  make  an  opportunity,  since  it  might  have 
lieen  an  accidental  association,  meaning  little  or  noth- 
ing. And  so  the  matter  might  have  passed  without 
result,  had  not  Earle  presented  himself  that 
afternoon  at  the  pastoral  residence.  He  had  two 
motives  for  the  visit  —  one  was  to  see  Father  Byrne, 
with  whom  he  had  been  most  pleasantly  impressed; 
the  other,  lo  ask  for  some  book  of  instruction  to  put 
into  Marion's  hands.  The  good  Father  was  a  little 
disturbed  by  the  appearance  of  his  visitor :  it  seemed 
he  was  to  be  forced  to  deliver  his  warning  —  for  he  had 
no  intention  of  receding  from  his  agreement  with  his 
conscience.  Therefore,  after  they  had  talked  for  some 
time  on  various  subjects,  and  a  slight  pause  occurred, 
he  was  on  tiie  point  of  beginning,  when  Earle  antici- 
pated him  by  speaking: — 

"  I  must  not  weary  you  by  a  long  visit,  Father,"  he 
said,  "  knowing  that  Sunday  is  a  day  which  makes 
many  demands  u{)ou  you.  I  have  come  not  only  for 
the  pleasure  of  si  eing  you  this  afternoon,  but  to  ask 
your  advice  on  a  matter  of  importance.  I  want  a  book 
which  sets  forth  Catholic  doctrine  in  a  clear  and 
attractive  manner,  for  one  disposed  toward  the  Church. 
What  work  will  best  answer  my  purpose?  " 

Father  Byrne  named  a  work  familiar  to  most  Cath- 
olics,   and  of    wide  circulation ;  but  Knrle  shook  his 


190  FAIBY   GOLD. 

head.  "  That  will  not  do  at  all.  I  want  something  of 
an  intellectual  character,  and  with  the  charm  of  liter- 
ary excellence.  Else  it  would  have  no  effect  on  the 
person  for  whom  I  intend  it." 

•'  Perhaps  if  you  told  me  something  about  the  per- 
son," suggested  the  priest,  "  I  could  judge  better 
what  would  be  suitable." 

"  I  want  the  book,"  Earle  answered,  "  for  a  young 
Indy  of  much  more  tliau  ordinary  intelligence,  who  has 
no  Protestant  prejudices  to  overcome,  and  who,  1 
think,  only  needs  to  be  instructed  to  induce  her  to 
embrace  the  Catholic  faith." 

Father  Byrne's  face  changed  at  the  words  "  a  young 
lady."  "  Surely,"  he  said,  after  an  instant's  hesita- 
tion, "  you  do  not  mean  the  young  lady  who  was  with 
you  in  church  this  morning?  " 

"Yes,"  replied  Earle,  surprised  by  the  tone  even 
more  than  by  the  question.  "I  mean  Miss  Lynde. 
Do  you  know  her?  " 

"  I  know  her  slightly,  but  1  know  of  her  very  well," 
answered  the  priest,  gravely.  "  And  I  regret  to  say 
that  I  cannot  imagine  a  more  unpromising  subject  for 
conversion.  My  dear  Mr.  Earle,  I  think  that  you  will 
waste  your  efforts  in  that  direction.  I  hope  I  am  not 
uncharitable,  but  I  have  little  confidence  in  the  sin- 
cerity of  Miss  Lynde's  desire  to  know  the  truth." 

"Why  have  you  no  confidence?"  asked  Earle, 
shortly,  almost  sternly. 

The  other  looked  distressed.  It  was  a  more  un- 
pleasant task  than  he  had  anticipated  which  he  had  set 
himself,  but  he  felt  bound  in  conscience  to  go  through 
with  it. 

"Because,"  he  replied,  "I  know  that  the  young 


FAIRY   GOLD.  191 

lady  has  had  ample  opportunity  to  learn  all  nbout  the 
Faith  if  she  had  desired  to  do  so.  She  had  been  at 
school  in  a  convt-nt  for  some  time,  and  she  came  here 
with  her  cousin,  Miss  Morle}'',  who  is  a  devoted  Cath- 
olic." He  paused  a  moment,  then  with  an  effort  went 
on  :  "  But  it  is  not  for  this  reason  alone  that  I  distrust 
her  sincerity.  I  chance  to  know  that  she  acted  badly 
toward  her  cousin,  that  she  was  the  cause  of  her  en- 
gagement being  brol<en,  and  she  behaved  with  great 
duplicity  in  the  whole  matter." 

"This  is  a  very  serious  charge,"  said  Earle.  He 
held  himself  well  under  control,  but  the  piiest  per- 
ceived that  he  was  much  moved.  "  Do  you  speak 
with  positive  knowledge  of  what  you  assert?  " 

"  As  positive  as  possible,  with  regard  to  the  facts," 
Father  Byrne  answered.  "  Miss  Morley  broke  her 
enffaojement  because  she  heard  the  man  to  whom  she 
was  eno:ao^ed  making  love  to  her  cousin.  She  o:cner- 
ously  refrained  from  blaming  the  latter,  but  Mrs. 
Morley  told  me  that  Miss  Lynde  had  undoubtedly 
made  deliberate  efforts  to  attract  her  daughter's  lover. 
You  will  understand  that  I  tell  you  this  in  confidence, 
and  nothing  but  my  sincere  interest  in  3^ou  would  in- 
duce me  to  tell  it  at  all.  You  might  readily  hear  it 
from  others,  however.  It  is,  I  believe,  a  notorious 
fact  in  Scarborough." 

Earle  was  silent  for  a  minute,  looking  down  as  if  in 
thought,  with  his  dark  brows  knitted,  and  his  pleasant 
countenance  overcast.  The  last  words  made  him 
recall  various  hints  and  allusions  of  Mrs.  Singleton's. 
They  had  produced  little  impression  upon  him  at  the 
time  —  not  enough  to  cause  him  to  inquii'e  what  they 
meant. —  but  now  they  came  back  with   a   force  de- 


ly2  FAIBY   GOLD. 

rived  from  what  he  had  just  heard.  With  sudden 
clearness  he  recalled  that  Marion  seemed  to  shrink 
fr  m  any  mention  of  her  cousin,  and  that  he  had  seen 
her  change  color  once  or  twice  when  some  man  was 
alluded  to  by  Mrs.  Singleton  in  very  significant  tones. 
Even  if  it  had  been  possible  to  doubt  the  priest,  who 
spoke  with  such  evident  reluctance,  these  things  re- 
called by  memory  gave  added  weight  to  all  that  he 
said.  Presently  the  young  man  looked  up,  and  spoke 
with  an  effort :  — 

"  I  have  no  doubt  you  have  meant  kindl^',  Father, 
in  speaking  of  this  matter ;  but,  if  you  please,  we  will 
not  discuss  it  further.  To  return  to  the  book  —  I  see 
that  I  had  better  decide  for  myself  what  will  be  suit- 
able. Something  of  Newman's  might  answer,  only  lie 
deals  chiefly  with  Anglican  difficulties;  or  perhaps 
Lacordaire's  great  Conferences  on  the  Church  might 
be  best." 

"That  is  rather  a — formidable  work,"  said  the 
Father,  hesitatingly, 

"Yes,"  answered  Earle ;  "but  so  splendid  in  its 
logic,  so  luminous  in  its  fetyle,  that  whoever  reads  it 
understandingly  will  need  no  other.  But  I  must  not 
detain  you  longer." 

He  rose  as  he  spoke,  shook  hands  with  the  priest  — 
who  was  uncertain  whether  or  not  to  regret  what  he 
had  done,— and  took  his  departure. 

Once  outside  he  said  to  himself  that  the  thing  to 
do  1  ow  was  to  go  directly  to  Marion,  and  learn  from 
her  the  true  meaning  of  the  story  which  had  so  deeply 
disturbed  him.  He  felt  loyally  certain  that,  an  he 
heard  it,  it  could  not  be  true, —  that  she  could  never 
willfully  liave  drawn  her  cousin's  lover  from  bis  alio- 


FAIRY    GOLD.  1^3 

giance.  At  least  he  repeated  this  to  bimsi  If  more  tlian 
once.  But  in  his  heart  was  a  lurking  doubt  which  he 
would  not  acknowledge, — a  lurking  recollection  of 
the  distrust  he  had  felt  toward  her  at  first,  and  which 
lately  had  faded  from  his  mind.  Well,  it  would  de- 
pend upon  what  she  told  him  now  whether  this  distrust 
were  to  be  revived  or  finally  banished. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  he  entered  the 
grounds  of  the  house  in  which  Mr.  Singleton  dwelt; 
and  the  long,  golden  sunshine  streamed  so  invitingly 
across  emerald  turf  and  bright  flower-beds  toward  the 
green  depths  of  shrubbery  in  the  old  garden,  that  he 
turned  ins  steps  in  that  direction,  thinking  it  bareh^ 
p(jssible  he  might  find  Marion  tiiere,  since  she  was 
partial  to  a  seat  under  an  arbor  covered  with  climbing 
roses. 

Some  instinct  must  have  guided  his  steps  ;  for  Marion 
ivas  there,  seated  in  the  green  shade,  and  so  absorbed 
in  reading  that  she  did  not  perceive  his  approach.  He 
paused  for  a  minute  to  admire  the  beautiful  picture 
which  she  made — a  picture  to  delight  an  artist's 
eve, —  askino;  himself  the  while  if  what  looked  so 
fair  could  possibly  be  capal)le  of  deceiving.  It  was 
a  question  that  must  be  answered  in  one  way  or 
another,  and,  tightening  his  lips  a  little,  he  came 
forward. 

She  looked  up  with  a  slight  start  as  he  drew  near, 
and  the  light  of  pleasure  that  came  into  her  eyes 
was  verj'  eloquent.  "  So  you  have  found  me!  "  she 
said.  "  I  thought  that  3'OU  might.  I  looked  for  you 
when  I  came  out,  but  did  not  see  you  anywhere  " 

"  I  had  gone  into  Scarborough,"  he  answered.  "  I 
went  to  see  "  —  he   stopped   before  saying  "  Father 

13 


194  FAIBY   GOLD. 

Byrne,"  with  a  sudden  tbouglit  that  it  might  not  be 
well  for  her  to  connect  the  priest  with  the  information 
of  which  he  must  presently  speak  —  "  to  see  a  friend," 
he  continued.  "  I  wanted  to  borrow  a  book.  What 
have  you  there  ? ' ' 

She  held  it  out,  smiling.  "  Helen  gave  it  to  me 
long  ago,"  she  said,  "  but  I  never  looked  at  it  until 
to-day." 

Eavle  found  that  it  was  a  translation  of  the  admira- 
ble French  "  Catechism  of  Perseverance,"  which  is  one 
of  the  best  compendiums  of  Catholic  doctrine.  "  After 
all,"  he  said,  "I  do  not  know  that  I  can  do  better 
than  this,  although  I  was  thinking  of  a  book  of  another 
kind  for  you, —  a  book  that  would  rouse  your  interest 
as  well  as  instruct  you." 

"  I  think  I  should  prefer  your  choice,"  she  said. 
"  Helen  had  the  best  intentions,  but  she  forgot  that 
what  suited  her  would  not  be  likely  to  suit  me." 

This  repetition  of  Helen's  name  brought  his  atten- 
tion back  from  the  book  to  the  subject  it  had  replaced 
in  his  mind.  "Helen!  "  he  repeated.  "  You  mean 
your  cousin.  Miss  Morlej'.?  " 

"  Yes.  You  have  heard  me  speak  of  her.  She  is 
a  Catholic.  It  was  with  her  that  I  came  to  Scar- 
borough." 

"  And  why  has  she  gone  awa}^  and  left  you  }  " 

Something  in  the  tone  rather  than  in  the  words 
caused  Marion  to  color  with  a  quick  sense  of  apprehen- 
sion. "  My  aunt  took  her  away  for  change  of  air  and 
scene.  They  are  wealthy,  and  can  go  where  the}^  like. 
I  could  not  go  with  them,  and  so  Mrs.  Singleton  kindly 
asked  me  to  stay  with  her.  That  is  very  simple,  is  it 
not?" 


FAIRY    GOLD. 


I'Jo 


"Very."  lie  answered.  He  looked  down,  and 
turned  absently  the  leaves  of  the  Catechism.  "  But, 
since  you  were  3'our  cousin's  guest,  it  seems  to  me  it 
would  have  been  simpler  if  she  had  asked  you  to  go 
with  her." 

"  There  were  reasons  why  she  did  not,"  said  IMarion. 
She  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  an  impulse  of  can- 
dor came  to  her, —  a  quick  instinct  that  Earle  must 
hear  from  herself  ihe  story  which  he  had  [lerhaps 
already  heard  from  others.  "  I  will  tell  you  what 
they  were,"  she  continued.  "  It  is  a  matter  w'hich  it 
is  disagreeable  to  me  to  recall,  but  I  should  like  to 
tell  3'ou  about  it." 

Then  she  told  hira.  There  is  everything,  as  we 
know,  in  the  point  of  view  from  which  a  picture  is  re- 
garded, or  a  story  is  told ;  so  it  was  not  surprising 
that,  as  he  listened,  Earle  felt  a  sense  of  infinite  relief. 
If  this  were  all,  she  was  not  indeed  altogether  free 
from  blame  —  for  she  acknowledged  that  she  had  taken 
pleasure  in  the  perception  of  Rathborne's  admira- 
tion,—  but  certainly  she  did  not  deserve  that  charge 
of  duplicity  which  the  priest  had  made.  It  was  an 
unfortunate  affair ;  but,  feeling  the  power  which  she 
esercised  over  himself,  how  could  he  wonder  that 
another  man  had  felt  and  yielded  to  it? 

80,  for  the  time  at  least,  all  his  doubt  was  dissi- 
pated, and  Marion,  satisfied  with  this  result,  deferred 
the  decisive  struggle  yet  to  come. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

BUT  it  was  not  to  be  long  deferred  —  that  decisive 
struggle   which   Marion    clearly   foresaw,    and 
from  which   she  shrank,   notwithstanding  Mr. 
Singleton's  confident  assurance  of  her  victory.     It  was 
a  day  or  two  later  that  Earle  said  to  her:  — 

"  Since  I  am  going  away  soon,  Marion,  it  will  be 
well  that  we  shall  settle  all  details  of  our  future.  Can 
yoLi  not  make  an  effort  and  go  with  me?  What  need 
is  there,  in  our  case,  for  long  waiting,  or  for  submit- 
ting to  a  separation  which  would  be  very  painful?  " 

The  confident  assurance  of  his  tone  —  as  if  dealing 
with  a  point  settled  beyond  all  need  of  argument  — 
made  Marion's  heart  sink  a  little,  but  she  nerved  her- 
self to  the  necessary  degree  of  resolution,  and  answered, 
quietl}' : — 

"  There  will  be  no  need  for  long  waiting  or  for  sep- 
aration either,  if  you  will  only  consent  to  do  what  your 
uncle  asks  —  to  remain  with  him,  and  fulfil  the  duty 
which  most  plainly  lies  before  you."  She  paused  a 
moment,  then  added,  in  a  softer  tone,  '"You  have 
refused  to  yield  to  his  request,  will  3'ou  not  yield  to 
mine?  " 

Earle  looked   at  her  with  eyes  full  of  pained  sur- 
prise.     '■'■  Et  tu  Brute!"   he  said,  with  a  faint  smile. 
(196) 


FAIRY    GOLD.  197 

"  I  thought  you,  at  least,  understood  how  firmly  my 
mind  is  made  up  on  that  subject —  how  impossible  it 
is  for  me  to  resign  all  my  cherished  plans  of  life  for 
the  sake  of  inheriting  ni}'  uncle's  fortune." 

"  But  what  is  to  prevent  your  painting  as  many  pict- 
ures as  3-ou  like  and  still  gratifying  him  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Because  no  man  can  serve  two  masters,  in  tem- 
poral anj'  more  than  in  spiritual  things.  If  I  am  to 
serve  Art,  I  must  do  so  with  all  my  strength,  not  in  a 
half-hearted  dilettante  manner  —  but  I  am  weary  of 
stiying  these  things.  I  hoped  that  b3^  this  time  every- 
one understood  them." 

"I  understand  them  perfectl}^,"  replied  Marion; 
"but  I  do  not  think  you  are  right.  I  think  that,  be- 
cause you  have  never  known  the  need  or  want  of 
monej',  you  are  throwing  awa}-  a  fortune  for  a  mere 
caprice,  and  you  are  condemning  others  as  well  as 
yourself  to  lifelong  poverty." 

"  Not  to  povert}^,"  he  observed  ;  "  though  certainly 
to  narrower  means  than  those  my  uncle  possesses.  It 
is  for  3'ou  to  say  whether  or  not  3'ou  care  to  accept  the 
life  which  I  offer.  I  can  not  change  it  —  I  do  not  be- 
lieve that  even  for  3'ou  it  would  be  best  that  I  should." 

"You  are  very  kind  to  settle  what  would  be  best 
for  me  so  entirely  in  accordance  with  j'our  own  tastes 
and  will,"  she  said,  with  her  old  tone  of  mockery. 
"  May  I  ask  why  you  are  led  to  such  a  belief?" 

"It  is  easil}^  told,"  he  answered,  "and  I  will  be 
perfectly  frank  in  the  telling.  We  all  have  some  one 
point  where  temi)tation  assails  us  with  more  force  than 
at  an}'  other.  With  you,  Marion,  that  point  is  an  unrlue 
value  of  wealth  and  of  all  the  things  of  the  world  that 
wealth  commands, — things,  for  the  most  part,  of  great 


198  FAIBY    GOLD. 

clanger  to  one  who  does  value  them  unduly.  The 
possession  of  wealth,  therefore,  would  be  dangerous  to 
you  —  more  dangerous  from  the  very  strength  of  the 
passion  with  which  you  desire  it.  Forgive  me  if  this 
sounds  odiously  like  preaching,  but  it  is  true.  I  can 
not,  tben,  change  the  whole  intention  and  meaning  of 
my  life  —  give  up  my  study  of  art  and  sink  into  a 
mere  idle  amateur  —  when  by  so  doing  I  should  gain 
nothing  of  value  to  myself,  while  working  harm  rather 
than  good  to  you.  Tell  me  that  you  believe  I  follow 
my  conscience  in  this,  and  that  you  will  be  content 
with  what  I  offer  you  ?  " 

He  held  out  his  hand  with  a  pleading  gesture,  but 
Marion  would  not  see  it.  What  he  had  said  ano-ered 
her  more  deeply  than  if  he  had  let  his  refusal  remain 
based  solely  on  his  own  wishes.  That  he  should  rec- 
ognize hers,  yet  coolly  put  them  aside,  reading  her 
the  while  a  moral  lecture  on  their  dangerous  nature, 
filled  her  with  a  sense  of  passionate  resentment. 

"I  might  be  content  with  what  you  offer,"  she 
said,  "if  it  were  not  that  3'ou  could  so  easily  offer 
more  —  you  could  so  easily  gratify  me,  whom  you 
profess  to  love,  as  well  as  the  old  man  who  loves  you 
so  well.  But  you  will  not  yield  in  the  least  degree  to 
either  of  us.  You  follow  your  own  wishes,  and  de- 
clare mine  to  be  mercenary  and  dangerous.  The  dif- 
ference between  us  is  that  I  have  known  something  of 
the  poverty  you  regard  so  lightly;  and,  while  I  might 
risk  enduring  it  with  a  man  who  had  no  alternative  of 
escape  from  it,  I  do  not  think  mj'  prospect  of  happi- 
ness would  be  great  with  a  man  who  condemned  me 
to  it  for  the  gratification  of  his  own  selfishness." 

"Is  that  how  the  matter  appears  to  you  ?  "  asked 


FAIRY    GOLD.  199 

Earle.  He  paused  for  a  minute  and  seemed  to  con- 
sider. "  You  maybe  right."  he  said,  presently;  "I 
may  be  acting  selfishly  —  what  man  can  be  absolutely 
certain  of  his  own  motives?  -  but,  to  the  best  of  my 
judgment,  I  am  doing  what  I  believe  to  be  right.  I 
can  not  yield  to  my  uncle  in  this  matter  —  not  even 
though  he  has  secured  j^ou  as  his  advocate.  I  am 
sure  that  if  I  did  yield,  it  would  be  worse  for  all  of 
us.  No,  Marion ;  forgive  me  if  I  seem  hard,  but  you 
must  take  me  as  I  am,  or  not  at  all.  You  must  con- 
sent to  share  my  life  as  I  have  ordered  it,  or  it  is  best 
that  you  should  not  share  it  at  all." 

Slie  bent  her  head  with  the  air  of  one  who  accepts 
a  final  decision.  "  It  is  very  good  of  j-ou  to  put  it  so 
plainh',"  she  said.  "  I'our  candor  makes  my  decision 
very  easy.  The  matter  to  me  stands  simply  thus: 
you  decline  absolutely  to  make  the  least  concession  to 
my  wishes,  you  sacrifice  my  happiness  relentlessly  to 
your  own  caprice,  and  yet  you  expect  me  to  believe 
in  the  sincerity  of  3^our  regard.  I  do  not  believe  in 
it.  I  believe,  indeed,  that  you  have  some  kind  of 
a  fancy  for  me  ;  but  you  think  that,  because  I  bring 
j'ou  nothing  beside  myself,  j^ou  can  make  your  own 
terms  and  order  my  life  as  it  pleases  you  — " 

"Marion!"  cried  Earle,  shocked  and  startled. 
But  she  went  steadily  on: — 

"  That,  however,  is  a  mistake.  If  I  bring  nothing, 
I  have  in  myself  the  power  to  win  all  things.  I  might 
give  up  all  things  for  a  man  who  truly  loved  me,  and 
who  was  poor  by  no  fault  of  his  own.  But  for  a  man 
who  loves  me  so  little  that  he  would  condemn  me  use- 
lessly to  a  sordid,  narrow  life  —  for  that  man  I  have 
onl}'  one  word  :  go  !  " 


200  FAIRY   GOLD. 

She  rose  with  a  gesture,  as  if  putting  him  from  her ; 
but  Earle  caught  her  extended  hand. 

"Marion!  "  he  said,  earnestly,  "  stop  and  think! 
You  accuse  me  of  selfishness,  but  is  there  no  selfishness 
in  3-our  own  conduct?  In  asking  you  to  share  my 
life  as  it  is  settled,  I  do  not  ask  you  to  share  poverty: 
I  onW  do  not  promise  you  wealth.  Do  you  care  noth- 
ing for  me  without  that  wealth?  Consider  that  I  can 
only  think  you  weigh  me  in  the  scale  with  my  uncle's 
fortune  and  without  that  fortune  hold  me  of  no 
account." 

"You  must  think  what  you  please,"  returned 
Marion.  "  I  have  told  j'ou  how  the  matter  appears 
to  me.  If  you  care  for  me,  you  will  accept  your 
uncle's  generous  offer.     That  is  my  last  word." 

"  Then  we  can  only  part,"  said  Earle,  dropping  her 
hand.  "It  is  evident  that  the  love  of  money  is  more 
deeply  rooted  in  jou  than  love  of  me.  God  forgive 
3'ou,  Marion,  and  God  bring  you  to  some  sense  of  the 
relative  value  of  things !  I  have  the  presum})tion  to 
think  that  what  I  give  j'ou  is  worth  a  little  more  than 
the  fortune  which  j'ou  rate  so  highly.  Some  day  you 
may  learn  how  little  money  can  really  buy  of  what  is 
best  worth  having  in  human  life.  In  that  day  you  may 
remember  this  choice." 

"  I  shall  never  regret  it,"  she  answered,  proudly. 

"  I  hope  from  mj^  heart  that  you  may  not,  but  I 
shall  long  regret  it.  For  I  believe  that  you  have  a 
noble  nature,  to  wliich  you  are  doing  violence.  And  I 
hoped  that  in  the  life  to  which  I  would  have  taken  you, 
that  nobler  nature  would  have  conquered  the  one 
which  finds  so  much  attraction  in  mercenar}^  things." 

The  nobler  nature  of  which  he  spoke  struggled  a 


FAinr   GOLD.  201 

little  to  assert  itself,  but  was  overborne  by  the  lower 
and  stronger  nature  —  by  anger,  disappointment,  and 
wounded  pride.  What!  she,  who  had  expected  to 
sway  and  dominate  all  with  whom  she  came  in  con- 
tact, to  yield  to  this  man  —  to  give  up  the  strongest 
wish,  the  most  earnest  resolve  of  her  life?  From  her 
early  youth  embittered  by  adversity  and  galled  by 
poverty,  she  had  said  to  herself,  "  Some  day  I  will 
be  rich  !  "  And  now  the  opportunity  to  possess  riches, 
and  with  riches  the  power  for  which  she  longed, 
was  placed  within  her  reach,  and  yet  was  held  back 
by  the  selfish  obstinacy  of  a  man,  who  made  his 
refusal  worse  by  condemning  her  wishes.  At  this 
moment  she  felt  that  anything  was  more  possible  than 
to  yield  to  liira. 

"You  are  wasting  words,"  she  observed,  coldly. 
"  My  attraction  for  mercenary  things  concerns  you  no 
longer.  Our  folly  is  at  an  end.  It  tvas  foll}^  I  see,  for 
you  have  no  trust  in  me,  nor  any  inclination  to  please 
me ;  and  where  these  things  do  not  exist,  love  does 
not  exist  either." 

She  gave  him  no  opportunity  to  reply  had  he  intended 
to  do  so,  for  she  left  the  room  abruptly  with  the  last 
words. 

And  there  was  no  deliberation  about  her  next  step. 
She  went  at  once  to  Mr.  Singleton.  "  I  have  come  to 
tell  you  that  your  confidence  in  my  power  over  your 
nephew  is  misplaced,"  she  said.  "I  have  failed 
entirely  to  influence  him.     He  is  going  away." 

The  old  man,  who  was  leaning  back  in  his  deep 
velvet  chair,  his  face  against  its  soft  richness,  looking 
more  than  ever  like  a  piece  of  fine  ivoi-y  carving,  did 
not  ai>iDear  vei'y  much  surprised  by  this  intelligence. 


202  FAIRY   GOLD. 

He  remained  for  a  minute  without  speaking,  regarding 
intentl}'  the  girl  before  him.  Her  beauty  was  truly 
imperial ;  for  excitement  gave  it  a  brilliance  —  a  light 
to  her  eyes,  a  color  to  her  cheeks  —  which  was  almost 
dazzling. 

"  What  a  splendid  creature!  "  he  said  to  himself; 
then  he  remarked  aloud,  very  quietly :  — 

"  And  3'ou  are  going  with  him?  " 

"No,"  she  answered.  "Since  he  has  no  regard 
for  my  wishes  in  a  matter  so  important  to  me  as  well 
as  to  himself,  I  have  declined  to  have  an3thing  further 
to  do  with  him." 

"  Good!  "  said  Mr.  Singleton.  His  tone  expressed 
not  only  approval,  but  intense  satisfaction.  "lam 
glad  that  some  way  to  punish  him  has  been  found. 
But  what  is  he  made  of  that  he  can  look  at  yo\x  and 
refuse  to  do  what  you  ask!  Has  he  gone  mad  with 
obstinac}',  or  is  he  a  man  of  ice.?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  she  replied.  "  He  cares  only 
for  himself  and  the  gratification  of  his  own  whims,  I 
suppose.  He  does  not  deserve  that  either  you  or  I 
should  think  of  him  any  more.  And  I,"  she  added, 
more  steruh%  "  am  determined  that  I  will  not  think  of 
him  again.  He  has  gone  out  of  m3'  life  forever. 
There  only  remains  for  me  now  to  go  out  of  this 
house,  with  the  most  grateful  memor}-,  dear  Mr. 
Singleton,  of  your  kindness." 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Singleton.  He  extended  his  hand 
and  laid  it  on  her  arm,  as  if  he  would  detain  her  by 
force.  "  It  is  not  for  you  to  go,  but  for  him.  And 
he  shall  go  at  once." 

"Not  on  my  account,"  she  said,  haughtilj'.  "^e 
has  a  right  here,  I  lave  none." 


FAIBY    GOLD.  203 

"You  have  the  right  that  I  ask  you  to  stay," 
observed  Mr.  Singleton.  "  He  has  no  other  than  my 
invitation,  and  that  will  be  withdrawn  as  soon  as  I  see 
Mm.  Like  yourself,  I  am  done  with  him  now  forever. 
I  have  borne  much  from  him  and  hoped  much  from 
him  ;  but  I  see  that  the  first  was  useless,  and  the  last 
witliout  any  rational  ground.  This  offense  —  his 
conduct  to  you  —  I  will  never  forgive.  But  I  hoi)e, 
my  dear,  that  you  will  suffer  me  to  make  what  atone- 
ment for  it  I  can.  I  consider  you  as  much  my  adopted 
dauofhter  as  if  this  marriage  on  which  I  set  my  lieart 
•had  taken  place." 

"You  are  very  good,"  replied  Marion.  A  vision 
passed  before  her  as  she  spoke  of  all  that  this  might 
mean;  but  she  felt  strangely  dead  toward  it,  as  if 
already  the  fortune  she  coveted  had  been  robbed  of 
half  its  lustre. 

"  Stay  with  me,  then,"  said  Mr.  Singlet "U.  "  I  can 
not  part  with  you,  if  Brian  can.  1  want  your  society 
while  I  live,  and  I  will  provide  for  you  liberally 
■when  I  die.     Will  you  stay?—  is  that  agreed  upon?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered.  "  If  you  care  for  me  I  will 
stay.     Nobody  else  does  care." 

'J  hen  suddenly  her  proud  composure  gave  way. 
She  burst  into  tears,  and  made  her  escape  from  the 
room. 

Perhaps  those  tears  hardened  Mr.  Singleton's 
resolve,  or  perliaps  it  needed  no  hardening.  After  a 
few  minutes  he  rang  his  bell,  and  sent  the  servant  who 
answered  it  to  summon  Brian  Earle  to  him. 

The  latter  was  on  the  point  of  leaving  the  house 
when  lie  received  the  message,  but  he  immediately 
■obeyed  it,  saying  to  himself  as  he  laid  down  his  hat, 


20 1  FAIEY    GOLD. 

''  As  well  now  as  later."  For  he  knew  perfectly  what 
was  before  him  ;  and  Mr.  Singleton's  icy  manner  was 
no  surprise  to  him  when  he  entered  the  room  where 
Marion  had  brought  her  story  so  short  a  time  before. 

"  I  am  informed  by  Miss  Lynde,"  said  Mr.  Single- 
ton, severely,  "  that  your  engagement  to  her  is  at  an 
end,  for  the  reason  that  you  refuse  to  yield  your 
wishes  to  hers  as  well  as  to  mine,  and  she  very  wisely 
declines  to  countenance  your  folly  and  selfishness  by 
sacrificing  her  life  to  it.      Is  this  true?  " 

"Perfectly  true,"  replied  the  young  man,  calmly. 
"  Miss  Lj'Ude  thinks  me  not  worth  accepting  without 
your  fortune.  1  regret  to  say  that  this,  to  my  mind, 
betrays  a  nature  so  mercenary  that  I  am  not  soriy  a 
conclusive  test  should  have  arisen,  and  ended  an 
arrangement  which  certainly  would  not  be  for  the 
happiness  of  either  of  us." 

"  That  is  how  it  appears  to  you,  is  it.''  "  said  Mr. 
Singleton.  ' '  Well,  let  me  tell  you  that,  to  me,  3'our  con- 
dnct  is  so  utterlj'  without  reason  or  excuse,  so  shame- 
ful in  its  selfish  disregard  of  everyone's  wishes  but 
your  own,  that  I  finally  cast  off  all  regard  for  you.  Go 
3'our  way,  study  the  art  to  which  you  have  sacrificed 
not  only  me  but  the  woman  to  whom  you  pledged  your 
faith  ;  but  remember  that  j'ou  have  lost  your  last 
chcince  with  me.  Not  a  sixpence  of  mj^  money  will 
ever  go  to  you." 

"  I  have  never  wanted  it,"  said  Brian,  proudty. 

"  No,  "  answered  his  uncle.  "  But  in  the  days  to 
come,  when  your  need  for  money  increases,  and  you 
find  that  fame  and  fortune  are  not  so  easily  won  as  you 
imagine  now,  yoa  tvill .want  it;  you  will  curse  your 
folly  then  when  it  is  too  late ;  and  you  will  think,  per- 


FAir.Y   GOLD.  205 

haps,  of  the  old  man  who  offered  j'oii  so  much  for  so 
little,  and  to  whom  3-ou  refused  that  little." 

Angry  as  the  speaker  was,  something  in  the  tone  of 
his  last  words  almost  shook  Brian's  resolution.  For  a 
moment  he  asked  himself  if,  after  all,  he  might  not  be 
the  victim  of  a  self-willed  delusion  ;  if  his  uncle  might 
not  be  right,  and  if  it  might  not  be  his  duty  to  yield. 
But  this  was  only  for  a  moment.  He  had  the  faculty 
of  seeing  clearly  and  deciding  firmly  once  for  all.  He 
had  long  before  this  weighed  every  aspect  of  a  ques- 
tion which  so  importantly  concerned  his  life,  and  his 
final  decision  was  based  on  many  strong  grounds. 
Those  grounds  he  saw  no  reason  to  reconsider  now. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  he  said,  gravely,  "  for  all  that 
has  happened, —  most  sorry  for  any  disappointment  or 
pain  I  have  caused  you  or  another.  But  there  are 
many  reasons  why  I  cannot  comply  with  your  wishes ; 
and,  since  further  discussion  of  the  subject  is  useless, 
I  will  beg  your  permission  to  leave  you." 

"  Leave  me  and  leave  my  house!  "  said  Mr.  Single- 
ton, emphatically.  "It  is  my  duty  to  guard  Miss 
L3-nde  from  any  possible  annoyance,  and  to  meet  you 
could  onlj'  be  an  annoyance  to  her  now.  You  will, 
therefore,  be  good  enough  to  go  at  once." 

"  I  will  do  so,"  replied  Brian,  rising.  "  God  bless 
you,  sir,  and  believe  that  I  am  very  grateful  for  all 
your  kindness  to  me.  I  wish  that  I  could  have  repaid 
you  better." 

Then,  before  his  uncle  could  answer,  he  went  away. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

BRIAN    EARLE  had   not   been  gone  more  than 
two  or  three  weeks  when  the  report  suddenly 

spread  through  Scarborough  that  Mr.  Single- 
ton was  very  ill.  And  for  once  report  was  true.  One 
among:  the  many  chi'onic  maladies  from  which  he  suf- 
fered  took  a  turn  for  the  worse,  and  the  doctors  shook 
their  heads,  saying  the  case  was  very  critical. 

Indeed  it  was  more  than  critical.  Those  about  the 
sick  man  knew  that  his  recover}^  —  even  his  partial 
recovery  —  was  impossible.  Close  to  hira  now  was  the 
dread  Presence  which  care  and  skill  had  kept  at  bay 
so  long,  and  no  one  was  more  thoroughly  aware  of  the 
fact  than  himself.  He  met  it  with  a  grim  philosophy, 
which  is  the  onlj'-  possible  substitute  for  Christian 
resignation.  Of  religious  belief  he  had  very  little, 
never  having  troubled  himself  to  formulate  the  vague 
ideas  which  he  had  received  from  a  much  attenuated 
Protestantism.  But,  such  as  they  were,  they  did  not 
inspire  him  with  terror.  God  would,  no  doubt,  be 
merciful  to  a  man  who  was  conscious  of  never  having 
done  anything  dishonorable  in  his  life.  This  con- 
sciousness helped  to  support  his  philosophy,  but  it  is 
not  likely  that  he  gave  it  much  thought.  A  subject 
which  has  not  occupied  a   place  of  importance  in  a 

(206) 


FAIBY    aOLD.  207 

man's  consideration  during  life  will  hardly  do  so  even  > 
in  the  face  of  death. 

Mr.  Singleton  was  more  interested  in  arranging  his 
worldl3^  affairs  than  in  preparing  for  the  great  change 
from  time  to  eternity.  His  lawyer  was  summoned, 
and  a  final  and  complete  revision  made  of  the  impor- 
tant document  which  would  fulfill  or  blast  the  hopes 
of  many  people.  Concerning  this  document  Mrs. 
Singleton  was  wild  with  curiosity ;  but  she  could  learn 
nothing,  and  her  husband  declined  even  to  speculate 
concerning  their  chances.  "  We  shall  know  t-oon 
enough  —  perhaps  too  soon,"  he  said,  with  his  usual 
philosophy,  a  little  tinged  by  despondency. 

Another  person  who  felt  some  curiosity,  mingled 
with  an  indifference  which  surpiised  herself,  was 
Marion  Lynde.  Who  would  take  in  the  will  that  place 
which  Brian  Earle  had  forfeited?  And  what  would 
the  latter  think  now  of  the  fact  that  he  had  thrown 
away  a  fortune  rather  than  give  a  promise,  the  fulfill- 
ment of  which,  as  it  now  chanced,  would  never  have 
been  exacted?  "  He  would  have  had  the  money  and 
his  freedom  besides,"  she  thought.  "  Does  he  recog- 
nize his  folly  now?  Will  he  recognize  it  when  he 
hears  the  news  that  soon  must  be  told  him?  " 

Of  her  own  interest  in  this  crisis,  Marion  did  not 
take  a  great  deal  of  thought.  She  had  no  doubt  that 
some  legacy  for  herself  would  find  a  place  in  Mr.  Sin- 
gleton's will,  and  no  doubt  also  that  in  the  time  to 
come  she  would  be  grateful  for  it.  But  she  regarded 
the  probability  just  now  with  a  dull  indifference,  which 
was  the  reaction  from  a  great  disappointment.  She 
had  not  only  lost  the  only  man  who  had  ever  touched 
her  heart,  but  also  the  fortune  that  might  have  been 


208  FAIBY   GOLD. 

hers  in  the  entirety.  And,  after  that  great  loss,  could 
she  rejoice  over  the  prospect  of  obtaining  a  small 
share  of  this  fortune? 

No:  to  rejoice  was  impossible;  but  she  felt  that 
whatever  the  old  man's  generosity  gave  would  be 
welcome,  since  it  would  mean  emancipation  from 
absolute  dependence  on  relations  for  whom  she  had 
no  cordiality  of  feeling.  No  doubt  the  time  would 
come  when  she  would  be  very  glad  of  this,  but  just 
now  it  was  difficult  — in  fact,  impossible  —  to  be  glad 
of  an3thing. 

In  this  way  tlie  days,  weighted  with  much  pain  for 
one  and  much  uncertainty  of  hope  and  fear  for  others, 
dragged  their  slow  hours  away  and  the  end  came  at 
last.  Marion  was  still  in  the  house —  Mrs.  Singleton, 
who  felt  that  her  presence  could  no  longer  do  any 
harm,  had  begged  her  not  to  leave, —  and  she  felt  a 
thrill  of  awe  and  regret  when  Ihe  words  came  from 
the  sick  chamber,  "  He  is  d3ing." 

So  the  old  man  who  had  showed  nothing  but  kind- 
ness to  her  was  passing  away —  and  how?  Without  a 
single  heart  near  him  that  throbbed  with  affection, 
without  a  Sacrament  or  a  word  of  prayer !  Marion 
had  associated  too  much  with  Catholics  not  to  feel  the 
horror  of  this,  but  she  also  knew  too  much  of  Protes- 
tants to  expect  anything  different.  Yet  she  could  not 
help  saying  to  Mrs.  Singleton,  "Has  no  clergyman 
been  sent  for  ?  ' ' 

That  lady  looked  surprised.  '•  No,"  she  answered. 
"Why  should  one  be  sent  for?  No  one  would  take 
the  liberty  of  doing  such  a  thing  while  Mr.  Singleton 
was  conscious,  and  after  unconsciousness  had  set  in 
where  would  be  the  good?     Mr.  Eustace  would  come 


FAIHY   GOLD.  209 

aud  read  piayers,  no  doubt,  if  we  asked  liiiu  to  do  so; 
but  what  would  be  gained  hy  it?  " 

"  Nothiug,  I  suppose,"  said  Marion.  Slie  had  heard 
those  prayers  —  wliich  are  all  that  Protestantism 
offers, —  and  shuddered  at  the  recolledion.  Yet  for 
the  dying  man  to  go  forth  into  eternity  without  a  word 
of  appeal  in  his  behalf,  seemed  to  her  so  terrible  that 
she  stole  away  to  her  own  room,  opened  a  prayer-book 
which  had  been  given  her  at  the  convent,  aud,  kneeling 
down,  said  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  the  prayers  for 
the  dying  which  she  found  therein. 

And  while  she  was  saying  them  —  those  tender  and 
infinitely  touching  uetitions,  which  call  upon  the  Most 
High  in  solemn  supplication  for  the  soul  in  its 
agony, —  the  soul  for  which  she  prayed  passed  away, 
and  was  done  with  the  things  of  earth  forever, 

A  day  or  two  followed,  of  that  strange,  hushed 
quietness,  yet  of  much  coming  and  going, —  of  the 
sense  of  a  suspension  of  ordinary  life,  which  prevails 
in  a  house  where  Death  has  for  the  time  taken  pos- 
session. The  living  are  generally  impatient  of  this 
time,  and  shorten  it  as  far  as  possible,  especially 
where  no  deep  sense  of  real  grief  is  felt.  But  Mr. 
Singleton,  in  death  as  in  life,  was  too  important  a 
person  for  every  due  propriety  not  to  be  observed. 
There  were  arrangements  to  be  made,  friends  to  be 
summoned,  and  details  of  funeral  and  burial  to  be 
settled.  These  things  required  time ;  and  when  it 
was  finally  settled  that  the  funeral  would  take  place 
in  Scarborough,  but  the  body  would  be  carried  for 
burial  to  the  home  of  the  dead  man,  tliere  was  a 
sense  of  relief  in  the  minds  of  all  concerned. 

Marion  accompanied  Mrs.  Singleton  to  the  funeral 

u 


210  FAIBY    GOLD. 

in  the  E[)iscoi)al  cliurch,  which  had  so  tnucli  i)Iease'l 
her  taste  on  her  first  arrival  iu  Scarborough.  It  was 
as  preity  as  ever ;  but  how  little  correct  architecture, 
stained  glass  or  rich  organ  tones  could  give  lile  to  the 
mockery  of  death  which  is  called  a  burial-service,  and 
which  contains  no  reference  to  the  individual  dead 
person  whose  body  lies  —  one  wonders  why  —  before  a 
so-called  "altar,"  where  no  sacrifice  is  offered,  from 
which  no  blessing  is  given !  Even  the  glorious  prom- 
ises of  St.  Paul,  which  the  preacher  reads  with  studied 
effect,  fall  upon  the  ear  hke  something  infinitely 
distant ;  the  heart  instinctively  longs  for  one  word  of 
personal  application,  one  cry  for  mercy  and  pardon  on 
behalf  of  the  poor  soul  that,  in  mute  helplessness,  can 
no  longer  cry  for  itself.  But  one  listens  in  vain. 
There  is  not  even  an  allusion  to  that  soul.  The  gen- 
eral hope  of  immortality  —  which  can  be  apt)lied  in 
any  way  that  suits  the  listener  —  having  been  set 
forth,  a  hymn  is  sung,  and,  save  for  a  few  formal 
prayers    at   the   grave,    all    is    over. 

Perhaps  it  was  because  she  had  so  little  religious 
sentiment  to  supply  for  herself  what  was  lacking  that, 
as  Marion  listened,  she  felt  her  heart  grow  sick  with 
pity  and  disgust.  "  What  is  the  possil)le  good  of 
this!"  she  exclaimed  mentally,  with  indignation. 
"If  no  prayer  is  to  be  said  for  the  soul,  no  blessing 
given  to  the  body,  why  is  it  brought  here?  What 
meaning  is  there  in  such  emptor  formalism?  It  is  a 
mockery,  nothing  less  ;  and  if  one  cannot  iiave  what 
the  Catliolics  give,  I,  like  the  materialists,  who  are 
the  only  logical  Protestants,  would  have  nothing." 

Afier  the  service,  which  impressed  at  least  one 
observer  in  this  manner,  the  body  was  at  once  taken 


FAIBY   GOLD.  •>-\l 

away.  Mr.  Singleton,  of  course,  accom[>anifd  it,  1)ut 
his  wife  remained  behind;  an'l  it  was  understood  that 
immediately  on  his  return  the  will  would  be  read. 

Eagerness  on  this  score  no  doubt  kept  Mr.  Single- 
ton from  the  delay  with  regard  to  his  return  in  which 
he  might  else  have  indulged,  being  a  man  who  had  a 
constitutional  objection  to  haste.  But  for  once  he 
accomplished  a  very  quick  journey.  On  the  third 
day  after  the  funeral  he  returned,  and  the  will  was 
opened  by  the  lawyer  who  had  drawn  it  up  according 
to  the  dead  man's  last  instructions. 

There  was  a  strain  of  intense  curiosity  and  anxiety 
regarding  this  will  in  the  minds  of  all  concerned.  It 
was  by  this  time  generally  known  that,  toward  the 
last,  Brian  Earle  had  fallen  hopt4essly  out  of  his  uncle's 
favor ;  but  no  one  felt  able  to  conjecture  with  any 
certainty  who  would  take  his  place  in  the  will,  although 
every  one  cherished  a  secret  hope  that  it  might  he 
himself.  There  were  several  of  these  would-be  heirs — 
cousins  more  or  less  removed  —  of  the  dead  man  ;  but 
Tom  Singleton  was,  in  the  absence  of  Earle,  the 
nearest  relative,  being  the  son  of  a  half-brother, 
while  Earle  was  the  son  of  Mr.  Singleton's  only  sister. 
The  former,  with  all  his  easy-going  quietness,  felt 
that  it  would  be  an  outrage  if  he  were  not  the  heir ; 
although,  knowing  his  uncle  better  than  any  one  else, 
he  knew  also  that  he  should  not  be  surprised  by 
whatever  grim  caprice  tiie  will  revealed. 

And  such  a  caprice  it  did  reveal,  to  the  amazement 
and  rage  of  everyone  concerned.  Mr.  Singleton 
remembered  with  a  legacy  everyone  whom  it  was 
proper  that  he  should  remember  —  the  largest  of  these 
legacies  being  fifty  thousand  dollars  to  Tom  Single- 


212  FAIBY   GOLD. 

ton,  —  and  then  he  bequeathed  tlie  rema  nder  of  his 
fortune  to  his  ^  adopted  daughter,"  Marion  Lynde. 

The  disappointed  heirs  lookeil  at  one  another  with 
expressions  that  baffle  description.  What!  half  a 
million  to  a  girl  who  had  no  claim  upon  it  whatever, 
whose  relationship  to  the  old  man  was  of  the  most 
vague  and  distant  description !  They  could  hardly 
believe  that  he  had  really  been  guilty  of  anything  so 
infamous.  They  would  have  felt  it  less  an  injury  if 
he  had  endowed  a  college  or  a  hospital. 

But  one  reflection  seemed  to  occur  to  all ;  for,  after 
the  expressive  pause  which  said  more  than  any  words, 
almost  every  voice  spoke  simultaneously,  "The  will 
won't  stand!  His  mind  was  weak  when  he  made  it. 
It's  evidently  a  case  of  undue  influence." 

The  lawyer  shook  his  head.  "  No,  gentlemen,"  he 
said;  "  don't  make  a  mistake.  This  will  can  not  be 
broken.  My  client  took  care  of  that,  and  1  took  care 
also.  As  for  his  mind  being  weak,  Mr.  Singleton 
here  knows  that  up  to  the  day  of  his  death  his  mind 
was  as  clear  and  vigorous  as  it  ever  had  been." 

Tom  Singleton,  thus  directly  appealed  to,  bent  his 
head.  He  had  not  been  one  of  the  speakers,  and,  but 
for  the  fact  that  he  had  grown  very  pale,  showed  little 
sign  of  emotion. 

"And,  foreseeing  of  course  that  this  disposition  of 
his  fortune  would  cause  disappointment,"  the  lawyer 
went  on,  "  Mr.  Singleton  was  careful  to  explain  to  me 
why  he  selected  Miss  Lynde  for  his  heir.  It  seems 
that  she  was  for  a  time  engaged  to  Mr.  Brian  Earle, 
whose  name  occupied  in  a  preceding  will  exactly  the 
place  which  hers  does  here.  The  engagement  was 
broken  in  a  manner  which    caused    Mr.   Singleton  to 


FAIRY   GOLD.  '2 V3 

blame  his  nephew  exceedingly,  and  the  3()ung  lady  not 
at  all.  So,  as  lie  told  me,  he  determined  that  she 
should  lose  nothing.  The  fortune  which  would  have 
been  hers  had  she  married  Earle — should  be  hers  in  any 
event.  This  was  what  he  intended;  and  your  disap- 
pointment, gentlemen,  may  be  less  if  you  will  remem- 
ber that  Mr.  Brian  Eaile  is  the  onl}'  person  whom  this 
bequest  to  Miss  Lj'nde  deprives  of  anytliing. ' ' 

But,  naturally,  this  was  not  much  comfort  to  the 
disappointed  heirs.  Each  one  felt  that  he  should  by 
right  have  taken  Brian  Earle's  place,  and  that  a 
broken  engagement  hardly  gave  Marion  Lynde  a 
claim  to  the  fortune  which  had  been  bequeathed  to 
her.  There  were  many  more  angry  murmurs,  and 
numerous  threats  of  contesting  the  will ;  but  the  smile 
with  whicli  the  law3'er  heard  these  was  not  very 
encouraging,  nor  j'et  his  calm  assurance  that  they 
could  find  no  better  means  of  throwing  away  the 
money  which  had  been  left  to  them. 

Unall}^  the}'  all  dispersed,  and  Tom  Singleton  slowly 
took  his  way  to  the  house,  where  his  wife  and  the  fort- 
unate heiress  were  awaiting  him.  Never  had  he  been 
called  upon  before  to  perform  a  duty  from  which  he 
shrank  so  greatly.  He  dreaded  the  violence  of  his 
wife's  disappointment,  and  he  felt  a  repugnance  to  the 
task  (jf  informing  Miss  Lynde  of  her  inheritance.  The 
lawyer  had  asked  him  to  do  so,  and  as  one  of  the 
executors  of  the  will  he  could  not  refuse ;  but  it  was  a 
ta^k  which  did  not  please  him.  If  this  girl,  this 
stranger,  had  not  come  into  their  lives,  would  not  he 
be  in  Earle's  vacated  plaee?  He  could  not  but  feel 
that  it  was  most  probable. 

It  would  require  a  volume  to  do  justice  to  the  feel- 


214  FAIPiY    GOLD. 

ings  wliicb  Mrs.  SiDgleton  expressed  when  she  heard 
the  ttrrible  news.  She  had  not  only  lost  the  fort- 
une—  that  might  have  been  borne, —  butit  had  gone 
to  Marion  Lynde,  the  girl  whom  she  had  discovered 
and  brought  to  the  notice  of  the  infatuate  d  old  man 
who  was  dead !  This  was  the  insupportable  sting,  and 
its  effect  was  all  that  her  husband  had  feared.  Hu 
had  prepared  himself  for  the  storm,  however ;  and  he 
bore  its  outburst  with  what  philosophy  he  could  until 
Mrs.  Singleton  declared  her  intention  of  going  to 
upbraid  Marion  with  her  great  iniquity.  Here  lie 
firmly  interposed. 

"  You  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  he  said.  "  Miss 
Lynde  is  not  to  blame  at  all,  and  you  will  only  make 
yourself  ridiculous  by  charging  her  with  offenses 
of  which  she  is  not  guilty.  If  she  has  schemed  for 
this,  she  concealed  the  scheming  so  successfully  that 
it  is  too  late  now  to  attempt  to  prove  it.  There  is 
nothing  to  be  done  but  to  make  the  best  of  a  bad 
matter,  and  bear  ourselves  with  dignity.  I  beg  that 
you  will  not  see  her  until  you  feel  able  to  do  this.  As 
for  me,  I  must  see  her  at  once." 

And,  in  spite  of  his  wife's  protest,  he  did  so.  When 
a  servant  came  to  Marion  with  the  announcement  that 
Mr.  Singleton  desired  to  see  her  in  the  drawing-room, 
she  went  down  without  any  thrill  of  excitement  what- 
ever. It  was  as  she  had  imagined,  then:  the  old  man 
had  left  her  a  legacy.  This  was  what  she  said  to 
herself.  And  vaguely,  half-formed  in  her  mind,  were 
the  words,  "  Perhaps  ten  thousand  dollars."  She  had 
never  dreamed  of  more  than  this,  and  would  not  have 
thought  of  so  much  had  not  Mr.  Singleton  been  of  a 
piincely  habit  of  giving. 


« 


FAIBY   GOLD.  215 

Was  it  wonderful,  then,  that  the  sliock  of  hearing 
what  she  had  inherited  stunned  her  for  a  time  ?  She 
could  only  gaze  at  the  speaker  witli  eyes  dilated  by  an 
amazement  that  proved  her  innocence  of  anj^  schemes 
for  or  expectations  of  this  end.  "Mr.  Singleton," 
she  gasped,  "  it  is  impossible!  There  must  be  some 
(Treat  mistake." 

Mr.  Singleton  faintly  smiled.  "There  is  no  room 
for  mistake,  Miss  Lynde,"  he  said.  "My  uncle  has 
left  his  fortune  to  you." 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

IT  was  at  first  almost  impossible  for  Marion  to 
realize  that  the  desire  of  her  life  was  gratified  in 
a  manner  so  strange  and  so  unexpected.  She 
seemed  to  be  existing  in  a  dream,  which  would  pres- 
ently dissolve  away  after  the  manner  of  all  dreams, 
and  leave  her  in  lier  old  state  of  poverty  and  longing. 
That  Brian  Earle  had  lost  his  fortune,  and  that  the  old 
man  now  dead  had  not  cared  sufficiently  for  any  of 
his  other  heirs  to  leave  it  to  them, —  that  this  fortune 
was  hers  —  hers  absokitely  and  alone, —  was  something 
that  struck  her  as  too  wonderful,  and,  in  a  certain 
sense,  too  awful,  to  be  true.  There  flashed  across 
her  mind  a  recollection  of  "  being  crushed  beneath  the 
weight  of  a  granted  prayer."  Was  she  to  be  crushed 
beneath  the  weight  of  this  prayer  of. hers  so  singularly 
granted? 

Certainly  she  felt  herself  in  an  isolation  which  was 
chilling  to  the  heart.  The  man  she  loved  was  gone  — 
had  parted  from  her  in  contempt;  and  she  felt  sharply 
how  much  that  contempt  would  be  increased  when  he 
heai'd  that  she  possessed  his  inheritance.  As  for 
friends,  where  would  she  turn  to  find  them?  For  her 
uncle  and  his  family  she  had  never  cared  ;  Helen  was 
estranged   —  if  not  in  heart,  at  least  in  fact ;   for  inter- 

\2in) 


FAIEY    GOLD.  217 

course  between  tliem  could  not  now  be  j.leasant  to 
either;  and  it  seemed  a  desecration  of  tlie  name  of 
friend  to  apply  tlie  term  to  Mrs.  Singleton.  Yet  it  was 
to  Mrs.  Singleton,  after  all,  that  she  had  to  turn  for 
social  support  and  countenance  at  this  crisis  of  her 
fortunes.  And  it  was  the  good  sense  and  philosophy 
of  Mr.  Singleton  which  induced  his  wife  to  see  that 
she  would  gain  nothing  by  following  her  declared  in- 
tention of  having  nothing  more  to  do  with  the  heirc  ss. 

"  People  will  only  think  that  you  are  disappointed 
and  envious,"  he  said;  "and  since  the  world  never, 
under  any  circumstances,  turns  its  back  on  a  rising 
sun,  you  will  merely  put  yourself  in  a  foolish  and 
awkward  position.  The  thing  to  do  is,  as  I  have  said 
before,  to  make  the  best  of  a  bad  matter.  And  for  us 
it  might  be  a  great  deal  worse.  Of  course  we  have 
missed  the  fortune,  but  I  don't  reall}'  think  we  ever 
iiad  a  chance  of  it ;  and  we  are  not  paupers,  you 
know.  Now,  it  will  be  a  graceful  thing  for  you  to 
take  up  this  girl.  She  will  appreciate  it,  I  think,  and 
it  will  prevent  any  undesirable  gossip  about  her  or 
about  us." 

"  All  that  may  be  very  true,  Tom,"  Mrs.  Singleton 
replied.  "  But  I  do  not  see  how  I  can  force  m)  self  to 
have  anything  more  to  do  with  her.  I  so  despise  her 
duplicity !    ' 

"  Duplicity  is  a  thing  to  be  despised,"  observed 
Mr.  Singleton,  quietly;  '"but  I  am  not  sure  that 
Miss  Lynde  has  been  guilty  of  it.  Let  us  give  her 
the  benefit  of  a  doubt.  If,  as  you  believe,  she 
schemed  for  this  result,  she  most  certainly  did  not 
expect  it.  I  never  saw  any  one  show  greater  surprise 
than  she  did  when  she  heard  the  news." 


218  FAIEY   GOLD. 

"  She  is  a  consummate  actress.  She  might  have 
affected  that." 

"  Not  even  the  most  consummate  actress  could  have 
affected  what  she  exhibited.  Her  surprise  amounted 
lo  incredulity.  But,  whether  you  believe  this  or  not, 
believe  that  it  will  be  best  for  you  not  to  throw  her  off. 
There  is  nothing  to  be  gained  by  that,  and  these  may 
be  a  good  deal  to  lose." 

This  view  of  the  matter,  together  with  her  husband's 
unusual  seriousness,  impressed  Mrs.  Singleton  so 
much  that  she  finally  consented  to  form  an  alliance, 
for  purposes  of  mutual  convenience,  with  Marion. 
The  latter  received  her  overtures  with  a  certain  sense 
of  gratitude.  She  knew  that  they  were  interested, 
but  she  also  knew  that  without  Mrs.  Singleton  she 
would  be  placed  in  a  very  difficult  position —  would, 
in  fact,  appear  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  as  an  adven- 
turess who  had  secured  a  fortune  at  the  expense  of  the 
rightful  heirs.  The  countenance  of  those  heirs  was, 
therefore,  very  essential  to  her. 

But  this  hollow  compact  for  mutual  convenience  — 
how  different  was  it  from  associations  in  which  affec- 
tion or  sympathy  forms  the  tie!  Marion  had  fancied 
herself  made  in  a  mould  strong  enough  to  disregard 
such  feelings,  but  she  now  found  her  mistake.  Her 
heart  ached  for  the  affections  she  had  lost  —  for 
Brian's  strong  love,  and  Helen's  gentle  tenderness. 
She  had  sacrifice  I  both,  and  by  sacrificing  them  won 
tl)e  fortune  for  which  slie  had  longed  ;  but  already  she 
began  to  realize  that  she  had  lost  in  the  exchange  more 
than  she  had  gained.  Already  the  shining  gold  which 
had  dazzled  her  was  transforming  itself  into  the  dry 
and  withert-d  leaves  (jf  the  fairy  legend. 


FAIRY   GOLD.  219 

Her  plans  were  formed  to  leave  Scarborough.  The 
associations  of  the  place  were  hateful  to  her,  and  it 
was  decided  that  she  should  go  with  Mrs.  Singleton 
to  the  home  of  the  latter,  and  then  form  arrangements 
for  her  mode  of  life.  But,  since  she  was  still  a  minor, 
these  plans  were  subjected  to  her  uncle's  modifica- 
tions, and  his  consent  was  necessary  for  them.  This 
caused  a  delay  which  detained  her  in  Scarborough  for 
'some  time,  and  brought  to  her  knowledge  a  fact  which 
was  destined  to  influence  her  future. 

This  was  the  fact  that  Rathborne  in  his  threat  of 
enmity  had  uttered  no  idle  words.  A  few  days  after 
tlie  contents  of  the  will  had  become  known,  while 
public  interest  respecting  it  was  at  its  height,  he  met 
Tom  Singleton  and  said  a  few  significant  words: — 

"  So  Miss  Lynde  has  won  the  fortune  from  you  all! 
That  is  rather  hard,  isn't  it?  " 

Mr.  Singleton  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Everyone 
knew  that  my  uncle  was  a  man  of  caprices.  His  will 
was  certain  to  be  a  surprise,  in  one  way  or  another; 
and  for  myself,  I  have  no  right  to  complain.  He  re- 
membered me  handsomely." 

"  And  is  there  no  intention  of  contesting  the  will  on 
the  part  of  the  heirs  ?  " 

"  I  hardly  think  so.  Brian  Earle  and  myself  are 
the  people  most  nearly  concerned,  and  we  do  not  think 
of  it." 

"  You  are  sure  about  Earle?  " 

"Perfectly  sure,"  said  Mr.  Singleton.  "Why 
should  a  man  g)  into  a  lawsuit  to  gain  what  he  might 
have  had  for  a  word  .''  " 

"There  might  be  several  reasons,"  returned  Rath- 
borne.     "  I  can  imagine  one  of  great  strength.     But 


2-0  FAIEY    GOLD. 

if  3'ou  do  not.  think  of  contesting  the  -nill,  another  heir 
may  come  forward  to  do  it." 

"No  otlier  heir  would  have  a  chance.  If  the  will 
were  set  aside,  Earle  and  myself  would  inherit." 

'•Not.  if  the  man's  sou  should  chance  to  be 
livin;^." 

Singleton  opened  his  eyes.  "  But  the  sou  is  dead," 
he  replied. 

"Is  he.^"  said  Rathborne,  dr3'ly.  "Who  knows 
it?  — who  can  prove  it?  But,  of  course,  I  spoke  only 
of  a  probability." 

fie  moved  awa^'  then,  while  his  companion  looked 
after  him  with  rather  a  blank  and  puzzled  expression. 
"Now,  "what  ou  earth  can  be  known  about  it?"  he 
thought.  "And  what  does  he  mean?  Of  cou'se 
thei'e  never  has  been  any  proof  of  George's  death, 
that  I  know  of;  and  if  he  should  be  living — Miss 
Lynde  might  look  out  for  storms  then.  But  nothing 
could  lie  moi-e  improbable.  My  uncle  evidently  did 
not  think  it  a  matter  to  be  even  considered.  He  must 
hav»>,  had  some  certainty  about  it." 

Nevertheless,  he  mentioned  to  his  wife  what  Rath- 
borne  had  said,  and  she  with  malicious  intent  repeated 
it  to  Marion.  "It  is  the  first  suggestion  that  has 
been  made  about  George,"  she  observed.  "  But  if 
he  shoul  I  chance  to  be  living,  I  am  afraid  you  would 
lose  evervthing." 

"  How  could  tiiat  be,"  said  the  young  girl,  "when 
he  is  not  mentioned  in  the  will?  " 

"  Because,  of  course,  he  would  contest  it  on  the 
ground  tliat  his  father  believed  him  dead  when  he 
made  it,  and  also  that  a  man  has  no  right  to  disinherit 
his  son  in  favor  of  a  stranger.     I  hope  it  may  never 


FAIRY    GOLD.  221 

come  to  such  a  contest,  for  many  disagreeable  things 
would  be  said  about  you." 

"  It  would  certainly  never  come  to  it,  as  far  as  I  am 
concerned,"  replied  Marion,  hauglitily.  "  For  if  Mr. 
George  Singleton  appeared,  I  should  yield  his  inherit- 
ance to  him  Avitliout  any  contest  at  all." 

"  Would  you  indeed?"  asked  Mrs.  Singleton.  She 
looked  at  her  for  a  moment  with  her  head  on  one  side, 
as  if  contemplating  the  possibility  of  wiiat  it  might 
mean  for  herself.  "I  don't  think  there  is  the  least 
danger  that  he  will  appear,"  she  said  presently  ;  "  and 
I  had  really  rather  you  had  it  than  he.  I  always 
detested  George." 

"Thanks  for  the  implied  compliment,"  said  Marion, 
smiling  faintly. 

She  said  no  more  on  the  subject,  but,  naturally 
enough,  she  thought  much.  It  was  a  new  and  start- 
ling suggestion,  and  seemed  to  derive  added  force 
from  the  fact  that  Rathborne  had  made  it.  For  she 
had  never  lost  the  sense  of  his  hostile  influence  —  of 
the  realization  that  she  had  made  an  enemy  of  one  who 
had  the  strength  as  well  as  the  will  to  be  dangerous. 
And  now  she  felt  sure  that  if  George  Singleton  were 
on  the  earth  this  man  would  find  him.  "  That  is  what 
he  intends  lo  do,"  she  said  to  herself;  "  and  this  is 
his  way  of  Ittting  me  know  it  —  of  making  me  under- 
stand that  I  hold  mv  fortune  on  an  uncertain  tenure. 
Well,  let  him  do  his  worst.  If  I  lose  the  fortune, 
nothing  will  be  left  me  at  all;  and  that,  no  doubt,  is 
what  I  deserve." 

This  was  a  new  conclusion  for  Marion,  and  showed 
how  far  she  had  already  traveled  on  the  road  of  self- 
knowledge.     Even  now  she  began  to  ask  herself  what 


■"o 


222  FAIBY    GOLD. 

there  -n-as  which  the  money  she  had  so  eagerly  desired 
could  purchase  for  her  of  enduring  interest?  Now 
that  everything  was  within  her  reach,  she  felt  that  she 
hardly  cared  to  stretch  out  her  hands  to  grasp  any 
object  of  which  she  had  dreamed.  Admiration, 
pleasure,  power, —  all  seemed  to  her  lilve  the  103-3 
which  a  sick  child  regards  with  eyes  of  indifference. 
Was  it  the  wakening  of  her  heart  or  the  rousing:  of  her 
soul  ^hich  made  them  seem  of  so  small  account?  She 
did  not  ask  herself ;  she  only  felt  that  Brian  Eai'le's 
influence  had  for  a  time  lifted  her  into  a  region  where 
sliehad  breathed  a  higher  air,  and  gained  a  knowledge 
of  ideals  which  made  her  own  now  seem  false,  petty 
and  unsatisf3'ing. 

Would  these  ideals  have  attracted  Marion  had  they 
been  presented  by  another  person?  That  is  difficult 
to  sa}'.  Her  nature  had  in  it  much  essential  noble- 
ness—  Earle  had  been  right  in  thinking  it  more 
warped  than  really  wrong, —  and  it  might  have  re- 
sponded in  some  degree  to  any  influence  of  the  kind. 
But  surely  it  is  not  without  grave  reason  that  we  are 
bidden  to  keep  the  heart  with  all  diligence,  since  "  oat 
of  it  are  the  issues  of  life."  It  had  been  necessary 
that  Marion's  heart  should  be  roused  out  of  its  cold 
indifference  to  all  affection,  before  she  could  grasp 
the  meaning  of  the  higher  things  of  life  —  those  things 
which  have  their  root  and  their  end  in  eternity. 

It  was  one  evening  about  this  time  that  she  chanced 
to  be  driving  late  through  the  streets  of  Scarborough, 
and  saw  the  Catholic  church  open  and  several  per- 
sons entering.  A  sudden  impulse  made  her  bid  the 
coachman  stop.  She  was  alone,  having  just  left  Mrs. 
Singleton   at  the  house  of  a  friend ;  and  she  felt  that 


FAIBY    GOLD.  22iJ 

before  leaving  Scarborough  final]}'  —  as  ib  was  lier 
intention  to  do  in  a  few  daj-s  —  she  would  like  to  enter 
once  more  the  sanctuary  where  she  had  felt  herself 
drawn  very  near  to  God.  Since  then  the  world  had 
ruslied  in  and  overwhelmed  her,  and  she  had  no 
longer  any  intention  of  embracing  the  true  faith. 
But  an  attraction  which  could  not  be  resisted  drew 
her  just  now  within  the  threshold  of  the  door  to  which 
Earle  had  last  led  her. 

She  descended  from  her  carriage,  to  the  astonish- 
ment of  a  few  loiterers  around  the  church  gate,  and 
in  the  rich  twilight  walked  up  the  path  which  led  to 
the  door.  Music  came  from  within,  and  as  she  pushed 
it  open  a  vision  of  celestial  yet  familiar  brightness 
burst  on  her.  The  altar  was  a  mass  of  lights  and 
flowers,  and  in  the  midst  rose  the  ostensorium  on  its 
golden  throne.  The  priest,  with  his  attendants,  knelt 
motionless  before  it,  while  from  the  organ-loft  came 
the  strains  of  the  "  O  Salutaris  Hostia."  Marion  had 
been  at  the  convent  too  long  not  to  know  all  that  it 
meant.  She  knelt  at  once,  as  a  Catholic  might  have 
done ;  and  indeed  in  her  mind  at  that  moment  there 
was  no  sense  of  doubt.  From  the  uplifted  Presence  on 
the  altar  faith  seemed  suddenly  infused  into  her  soul. 
Not  oul}'^  did  all  thought  of  questioning  leave  her,  but 
all  memory  of  ever  having  questioned.  She  knelt  like 
a  child,  simply,  humbly,  involuntarily;  and,  with  the 
same  confidence  as  those  around  her,  breathed  a  peti- 
tion for  the  things  of  which  she  had  begun  to  feel 
herself  in  need  —  for  light  on  a  path  which  was  by  no 
means  clear,  and  for  some  better  guide  tliun  her  own 
errino;  will. 

After  Benediction  she  was  one  of  the  first  to  leave 


224  FAIEY   GOLD. 

the  church,  with  a  sense  of  peace  which  astonished 
her.  "  Why  do  I  feel  different^  now  from  what  I  did 
when  I  entered?"  she  said  to  herself  as  she  drove 
home  in  the  soft  dusk.  "What  power  has  touched 
me,  and  given  me  the  first  repose  of  spirit  that  I  have 
known  in  a  long  time?  It  is  surely  strange,  and  im- 
possible not  to  believe." 

But  Ihere  it  ended.  Not  yet  had  come  the  time 
when  she  would  feel  the  necessitj^  of  taking  some 
practical  step  toward  making  this  all-powerful  help 
her  own  ;  not  yet  had  the  proud  spirit  bent  itself  to 
acknowledging  its  own  inability  to  order  its  life.  The 
very  reason  which  not  long  before  had  drawn  her 
toward  the  Church  —  the  fact  that  Earle  belonged  to 
it  —  now  repelled  as  strongly  as  it  had  attracted. 
The  hour  had  not  yet  struck  when  such  earthly  con- 
siderations would  fall  away  before  the  urgent  demand 
of  tlie  soul,  the  need  of  the  weak  and  the  human  for 
the  strong  and  the  eternal. 

"The  cedars  must  fall  roimd  us  ere  we  see  the  light  behind;" 

and  not  all  of  Marion's  cedars  had  fallen  yet. 

The  next  day  a  surprise,  which  was  yet  not  alto- 
gether a  surprise,  awaited  her.  She  was  quietly  sitting 
in  the  room  which  had  been  Mr.  Singleton's  —  that 
pmall,  pi-etty  apartment  behind  the  large  drawing- 
room,  which  still  seemed  full  of  the  suarsiestion  of  his 
presence,  —  when  she  heard  a  visitor  ushered  into  the 
adjoining  room,  and  a  minute  later  a  servant  appeared 
bringing  her  a  card.  She  took  it  and  read  the  name 
of  Paul  Rathborne. 

It  was  a  shock  rather  than  an  astonishment.  She 
said  to  herself  that  she  had  looked  for  this :   she  had 


FAIRY   GOLD.  225 

known  that  he  would  come  as  the  bearer  of  ill  news, 
if  ill  news  were  to  be  brought  to  her.  For  a  moment 
she  remained  silent  looking  at  the  bit  of  pasteboard 
which  said  so  much.  Should  she  refuse  to  see  him, 
should  she  deny  him  the  pleasure  of  triumphing  over 
lier,  and  force  him  to  send  through  another  channel 
whatever  news  he  brought?  She  was  strongly  tempted 
to  this,  but  pride  in  the  first  place  —  t!ie  pride  of  not 
wisliiiig  to  let  him  imagine  that  he  had  any  power  to 
move  her  — rejected  the  idea  ;  and  in  the  second  place 
she  felt  that  she  must  know  at  once  whatever  he  had 
to  tell.  If  she  refused  to  see  him,  he  would  be  capa- 
ble of  making  her  suffer  suspense  for  an  indefinite 
length  of  time.  Steadying  her  voice  to  quiet  indiffer- 
ence, therefore,  she  said  to  the  servant:  "  Show  Mr. 
Rathborne  in  here." 

A  minute  later  the  curtains  between  the  two 
rooms  were  drawn  back,  and  Rathborne  entered.  She 
rose  and  bowed  slightly,  looking  more  princess-like 
than  ever  in  her  beauty  and  stateliness,  and  in 
the  midst  of  the  luxury  which  surrounded  her. 
No  detail  of  her  appearance  or  her  manner  was 
lost  upon  the  man  who  had  come  with  his  heart 
full  of  bitterness  toward  her.  And  if  an  additional 
touch  to  this  bitterness  had  been  needed,  her  haugiit- 
iness,  and  her  air  of  calmly  possessing  a  place 
where  she  belonged,  would  have  given  it.  The  recol- 
lection of  some  words  of  his  was  fresh  in  the  minds  of 
both  as  they  looked  at  each  other.  "  I  promise  you 
that  ill  the  hour  when  jour  schemes  are  nearest  suc- 
cess, you  will  find  them  defeated  by  me."  These  had 
been  his  last  words  to  her.  Was  he  come  now  to  tell 
her  that  they  were  fulfilled.?     This  was  the  thouglitin 

15 


226  FAIIiY   GOLD. 

her  mind,  but  there  was  no  sign  of  it  in  1  er  manner 
or  her  glance.  She  stood,  composedly  waiting  for 
him  to  explain  the  object  of  his  visit ;  and  it  was  be 
who  had  to  speak  first. 

"  I  have  ventured  to  ask  tlie  honor  of  this  interview, 
Miss  Lj'nde,"  he  said  —  and,  under  its  outward  re- 
spect, she  keenly  felt  tlie  mockery  of  his  tone, —  "  in 
order  to  make  a  communication  of  importance  to  j^ou. 
It  is  true,  I  might  have  made  it  to  your  lawyer,  but  I 
thought  it  best  that  I  should  be  myself  the  bearer  of 
such  news  to  you." 

"  I  fully  appreciate  your  motives,"  she  replied,  in 
her  clear,  flute-like  tones.  "  Pray  spare  yourself  and 
me  any  apologies,  and  let  me  know  what  possible  news 
of  im[)ortauce  can  have  fallen  to  3'ou  to  bring  me." 

As  she  understood  the  underl^'ing  mockery  in  his 
voice,  so  he  heard  and  felt  the  scorn  of  hers.  Her 
clear,  brilliant  glance  said  to  him :  "I  know  that  you 
have  come  here  because  you  hope  to  humble  me,  but 
I  shall  only  show  3'ou  how  despicable  I  consider  you." 
It  stung  him  as  she  had  always  had  tlie  faculty  of 
stinsing;  him.  and  roused  his  determiiiatiou  tomakehis 
tidings  as  bitter  to  her  as  possible. 

"  The  news  which  I  bring  you,"  he  said,  "  is  most 
important  to  your  interest,  since  it  is  the  intelligence 
that  I  am  directed  to  bring  suit  at  once  to  set  aside 
Mr.  Singleton's  will  made  in  3-our  favor,  in  order  that 
the  estate  may  devolve  to  the  natural  heir." 

"  Indeed!  "  she  said,  quietl}',  with  admirable  self- 
control.  "  And  may  I  beg  to  know  who  is  the  natural 
heir  who  proposes  to  enter  into  this  contest?  " 

"  An  heir  against  whose  claim  3^ou  will  find  it 
impossible    to   fight,"    he    answered,  with   a  ring  of 


FAIBT   GOLD.  227 

triumph  in  his  voice  ;  —  "  one  who  has  been  supposed 
to  be  dead,  but  who  has  been  roused,  by  the  news  that 
his  inheritance  has  been  alienated  from  him,  to  prove 
that  he  is  hving.  In  other  words,  my  client  is  Mr. 
Singleton's  only  sou,  George  Singleton." 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

IT  does  not  alwaj^s  follow  that  a  thing  is  not  a  shock 
because  one  has  in  a  manner  expected  it.  Ma- 
rion suffered  a  severe  shock  when  she  found  her 
^orst  anticipations  reahzed  ;  for,  although  she  had  in 
a  degree  anticipated  it,  knowing  that  Rathborne  was 
not  likely  to  have  spoken  without  some  ground  when 
he  alluded  to  such  a  possibilit}^,  there  had  still  been 
the  contrary  assurance  that  Mr.  Singleton  had  evi- 
dently believed  in  his  son's  death,  since  there  was  not 
even  an  allusion  to  him  in  the  will.  The  intelligence 
just  conveyed  was,  therefore,  a  hard  blow  mercilessly 
struck  ;  but  she  preserved  her  self-possession,  notwith- 
standing, in  a  remarkable  manner, 

"This  is  a  very  extraordmary  piece  of  news,"  she 
said.  "  I  have  been  under  the  impression  that  Mr. 
George  Singleton  was  dead." 

Rathborne  smiled.  "  Most  people  have  been  under 
that  impression,  especially  those  who  had  very  good 
reason  for  desiring  that  it  should  be  so,"  he  answered. 
"But,  so  far  from  being  dead,  he  has  been  living  in 
South  America,  and  prospering  fairly." 

"  Living  in  South  America,  and  yet  he  has  already 
heard  of  his  father's  death  and  the  disposition  of  his 
father's  property!  —  how  has  that  happened?" 
(228) 


FAIRY   GOLD.  229 

Despite  himself,  Paul  Rathborne  colored  slightly,  but 
his  glance  met  hers  fullv  as  he  answered,  "  It  has  not 
happened  by  chance.  Some  time  ago  a  friend  of  mine 
who  had  been  in  South  America  mentioned  meeting 
a  man  there  who,  from  his  description,  I  felt  sure  must 
be  Mr.  Sino-leton's  missino;  son.  The  matter  was  then 
no  interest  or  concern  of  mine ;  for  it  was  to  be  sup- 
posed that  the  father  and  son  knew  their  own  affairs 
best.  So  I  paid  no  attention  to  it.  But  a  short  time 
aso  it  began  to  occur  to  me  that  it  was  rather  hard 
that,  while  the  son  was  still  living,  strangers  should  be 
fighting  for  his  inheritance.  Therefore  I  wrote  to  my 
friend  (who  had  returned  to  South  America)  to  let 
Sino-leton  know  the  state  of  affairs  here.  The  latter 
immediately  wrote  to  me,  saying  that  he  would  return 
to  his  father  as  soon  as  possible,  and  meanwhile  asking 
me  to  inform  Mr.  Singleton  of  his  (the  son's)  existence 
and  well-being.  This  letter  reached  me  just  at  the 
time  of  Mr.  Singleton's  death.  I  immediately  com- 
municated this  fact  to  Mr.  George  Singleton,  as  also 
the  facts  with  regard  to  the  estate ;  and  I  have  just 
heard  from  him,  authorizing  me  to  contest  the  will  at 
once." 

There  was  a  brief  pause,  during  which  Marion  asked 
herself  what  was  her  best  course  of  action  ;  and  out  of 
the  confusion  into  which  her  mind  was  thrown,  she 
could  grasp  only  one  clear  idea  —  that  she  must  be 
careful  how  she  committed  herself  to  this  man,  who 
had  come  with  the  desire  to  injure  and  triumph  over 
her.  Consequently,  when  she  spoke  it  was  to  say, 
quite  calmly :  — 

"  I  think  that  you  have  made  a  mistake  in  coming 
to  me  with  this  story  instead  of  going  to  my  lawyer. 


230  FAIBY    GOLD. 

1  understand  very  well  uhi/  3'ou  have  come ;  but  now 
that  you  have  accomplished  tiie  end  3'ou  had  in  view, 
I  beg  to  refer  you  to  him.  For,  of  course,  in  a  matter 
so  important  as  this  I  shall  not  think  of  acting  without 
advice." 

"I  am  acquainted  with  your  prudence,"  he  said, 
with  the  mockery  of  his  tone  somewhat  more  pro- 
nounced ;  "and  am  not,  therefore,  surprised  to  find 
you  so  cautious.  But  I  think  it  only  light  to  warn 
you  that  your  caution  will  avail  very  little.  No  will 
which  ignores  a  son  in  favor  of  an  absolute  stranger 
can  possibly  stand." 

"That  is  a  point  which  I  do  not  care  to  discuss 
with  3'OU,"  she  replied.  "  But  you  will  allow  me  to 
inquire  if  Mr.  Singleton  is  in  this  country  or  on  his 
way  here.'' " 

"  Not  yet.  He  will  come  if  it  is  necessary;  but  I 
am  at  present  authorized  to  act  for  him." 

"  You  seem  to  have  inspired  him  with  a  remarkable 
degree  of  confideuce,  considering  that  you  are  an  entire 
stranger  to  him." 

It  was  merely  a  chance  shot,  but  something  in  the 
expression  of  Rathborne's  face  gave  her  an  idea  like  a 
flash  of  lightning. 

"  It  is  to  be  supposed,"  she  went  on  before  he  could 
speak,  "  that  you  are  convinced  of  the  identity  of  this 
stranger  with  Mr.  Singleton's  son?  " 

*'  Do  you  imagine  that  if  I  were  not  — " 

"I  imagine  nothing,"  she  interoosed;  "  and  as  a 
lawyer  you  can  not  need  a  reminder  from  me  that  it 
will  be  iiecessaiy  for  this  person  whom  you  represent, 
full}'  to  prove  his  identity  with  the  son  whom  Mr. 
Singleton  believed  to  be  dead." 


FAIBY   GOLD.  231 

It  was  perfectly  true,  and  Ratbborne  knew  it ;  but 
he  was  none  the  less  astonished  that  she  i-hould  have 
so  clearly  jind  immediately  perceived  it. 

"  I  always  knew  that  she  was  shrewd  as  the  devil," 
he  said  to  himself,  while  he  observed  aloud  :  — 

"  Do  not  flatter  yourself  with  any  hope  that  it  is  an 
impostor  who  is  about  to  claim  the  fortune  you  have 
inherited.  Nothino-  can  be  more  certain  than  that  it 
is  ]Mr.  Singleton  himself.  To  attempt  to  deny  his 
identity  will  only  be  to  make  yourself  ridiculous,  and 
to  damage  j^our  cause  more  than  the  plain  facts  have 
damaged  it  already.  Your  lawyer,  I  am  sure,  will 
advise  j'ou  better." 

"  Let  me  again  refer  you  to  that  lawyer,  if  this  is 
all  you  have  to  say  to  me,"  she  answered,  rising  from 
her  seat. 

He  rose  also ;  and  as  they  stood  for  a  moment  face 
to  face,  it  proved  impossible  for  him  to  restrain  some 
words  which  rose  to  his  lips,  brought  there  in  double 
bitterness  by  the  sight  of  her  proud,  calm  countenance. 

"  I  shall  go  to  your  lawyer,"  he  said,  "  and  I  shall 
not  rest  until  m}^  client  has  all  his  rights  —  the  rights 
of  which  he  would  not  have  heard  for  many  a  day  but 
for  me.  When  he  is  in  full  possession  of  them,  I  will 
ask  you  to  be  good  enough  to  remember  a  pledge  that 
I  gave  you  once,  and  which  I  shall  then  have  fully 
redeemed.  1  always  endeavor  to  pay  my  debts  ;  and, 
as  you  are  well  aware,  1  owe  you  a  very  heavy  debt 
at  present.  I  hope  to  repay  it  very  soon  —  with 
interest." 

"  I  am  well  aware  that  j^ou  are  a  malicious  and  a 
dishonorable  man,"  she  replied,  calmly.  "■  Because 
your  treachery  with  regard  to  Helen  recoiled  on  your- 


232  FAIIiY    GOLD. 

self,  you  have  determined  to  injure  me.  Do  your 
worst.  Nothing  that  you  could  do  would  make  you 
more  despicable  in  my  eyes  than  you  are  at  present. 
This  is  all  that  need  be  said  between  us.  Will  you  go 
now,  or  shall  I  be  forced  to  leave  you?  " 

"  I  shall  go  at  once,"  he  answered  ;  "  but  you  will 
permit  me  to  offer  you  a  little  parting  advice.  Enjoy 
as  much  as  possible  the  fortune  which  j^ou  hold  now, 
for  your  possession  of  it  will  be  very  short." 

With  this  last  sting  he  went  out  from  her  presence  ; 
and  she,  sinking  into  Mr.  Singleton's  deep  chair, 
clasped  her  hands  over  her  painfully-beating  heart, 
and  looked  with  troubled  eyes  over  the  soft  landscape 
before  her,  of  which  she  hardly  perceived  a  feature. 

And  so  she  was,  after  all,  to  lose  the  foi'tune  for 
which  she  had  sacrificed  everything  else !  It  had  by 
no  means  brought  her  the  satisfaction  or  happiness 
she  had  imagined,  but  it  was  all  that  remained  to 
her —  the  one  good  which  she  still  grasped  out  of  the 
wreck  she  had  already  made  of  her  life,  and  her  life's 
best  hopes.  To  lose  it  now,  to  sink  back  again  into 
poverty  and  dependence  after  one  brief  taste  of  power 
and  independence,  that  would  be  a  bitter  retribution 
for  the  choice  she  had  made  when  she  sent  Brian  Earle 
away, —  a  bitter  retribution  for  the  selfish  vanity  which 
had  made  Rathboi'ne  her  enemy.  She  shuddered  a 
little  at  the  recollection  of  that  enmity.  Bravely  as  she 
had  borne  herself  before  him,  it  was  a  dismaying  thought 
that  such  a  power  and  such  a  will  to  injure  menaced 
her.  She  thought  of  her  proud  self-confidence  when 
from  the  quiet  convent  she  had  stepped  into  the 
world:  her  belief  in  her  own  ability  to  mould  life, 
events,  and  people  to  her  wishes.     And  now  with  what 


FAIBY   GOLD.  233 

absolute  failure  she  was  threatened !  —  with  what 
complete  aud  hopeless  loss  of  all  that  she  desired  ! 

The  next  day  her  lawyer  came  with  a  grave  face, 
and  greeted  her  with  an  air  which  was  not  lost  upon 
her.  "He  thinks  that  it  is  all  over  with  me!  "  she 
said  to  herself ;  but,  though  her  heart  sank  a  little 
lower  at  this  proof  of  the  weakness  of  her  cause,  she 
smiled  on  him  brightly  and  bravely  enough. 

"  I  suppose,"  she  began,  "  that  you  have  seen  Mr. 
Rathborne,  who  was  so  kind  as  to  pay  me  a  visit  yes- 
terday  in  order  to  give  me  some  interesting  intelli- 
gence? " 

"Yes,  I  have  seen  Mr.  Rathborne,"  he  answered; 
"  and  the  news  he  brought  me  was  very  unexpected 
and  very  serious." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it?  "  she  asked. 

The  lawyer  looked  at  her  with  surprise.  The  cool- 
ness of  her  tone  and  the  composure  of  her  manner 
seemed  to  indicate  that  she  by  no  means  appreciated 
the  gravity  of  the  danger  which  threatened  her. 

"  I  think,"  he  replied,  "  that  such  a  contest  will  be 
ruinou:s  to  you.  No  court  will  be  likelj'  to  sustain  a 
will  which  entirely  disinherits  a  man's  own  son.  Can- 
didly, my  advice  to  you  is  to  compromise  at  once." 

Marion  did  not  say,  "  Advice  should  be  asked  before 
it  is  offered,"  but  her  curling  lip  said  so  for  her,  and 
so  did  the  manner  in  which  she  ignored  his  suggestion. 

"Before  taking  up  a  contest  over  the  will,"  she 
said,  "  would  it  not  be  well  to  be  quite  sure  that  the 
person  who  proposes  to  contest  it  is  indeed  Mr. 
Singleton's  son  ?  " 

Again  the  lawyer  stared  at  her.  Was  it  possible 
that  he  had  not  thought  of  this? 


■234  FAIEY    GOLD. 

"Of  course,"  he  replied,  "  that  is  most  essential; 
but  it  is  very  easily  done.  Mr.  George  Singleton  has 
but  to  show  himself.  There  are  numbers  of  people 
who  will  recognize  him." 

"  Why  does  he  not  show  himself,  then?  Why  is  he 
content  with  merelj^  writing  to  Mr.  Ruthborne  instead 
of  coming  to  look  after  his  inheritance  himself?  " 

"Because  it  is  all  that  is  essential  at  present  —  to 
give  us  warning  and  take  the  necessary-  legal  steps. 
He  will,  of  course,  appear  later." 

"  Let  us  demand  that  he  appear  at  once,"  she  said, 
with  a  decision  of  tone  and  manner  which  more  than 
astonished  the  lawyer.  "I,  for  one,  distrust  Mr. 
Rathborne  utterly,  and  refuse  most  positively  to 
transact  any  business  with  him.  If  you  can  get  the 
address  of  this  reputed  Mr.  Singleton,  I  beg  that  3'ou 
will  write  to  him,  and  say  that  we  decline  to  recognize 
his  claim  in  any  manner  whatever  until  he  shows  him- 
self and  establishes  his  identity.  Then  there  will  be 
time  enough  to  talk  of  contest  or  compromise.  Am 
I  not  right  in  this?  " 

"  Perfectly  right,"  responded  the  stupefied  man  of 
business.  Never  (as  he  afterward  affirmed)  had  he 
been  so  surprised  as  by  these  energetic  instructions. 
He  had  come  himself  prepared  to  instruct ;  to  find 
perhaps  unreasoning  opposition,  or  hysterical  com- 
plaining, which  it  would  be  necessary  to  quiet  and 
bring  to  some  practical  view  of  the  case.  But  to  be 
met  instead  with  this  cool  self-possession,  these  clear 
ideas  and  precise  directions,  was  little  less  than  a 
shock  to  him.  His  own  ideas  seemeil  to  desert  him 
as  he  sat  and  stared  at  the  beautiful,  resolved  face 
which  confronted,  him. 


FATRT    GOLD.  235 

"  Certainly  3'ou  are  right,"  be  said  again,  after  a 
moment.  "  Ttie  identity  of  the  claimant  is  the  first 
thinw  to  be  established  ;  but  —  I  confess  that  I  am  a 
little  surprised  by  your  thinking  of  this  point.  Why 
should  it  occur  to  you  to  doubt  whether  the  person 
claiming  to  be  Mr.  George  Singleton  is  really  him- 
self?" 

"  Because,"  she  answered,  "  in  the  first  place  I  am 
sure  (and  j'ou,  no  doubt,  are  sure  also)  that  his 
father  believed  him  dead,  else  certainly  he  would  not 
have  omitted  his  name  entirel}^  from  his  will.  And  he 
must  have  had  some  reason  for  this  belief.  Again,  as 
I  have  already  told  you,  I  distrust  Mr.  Rathborne 
•entirely.  He  would  be  perfectly  capable  of  bringing 
forth  a  false  claimant." 

"  My  dear  young  lady,  that  is  a  very  serious,  a  very 
shocking  charge.  Mr.  Rathborne  is  a  —  well,  a  sharp 
practitioner,  perhaps  ;  but  I  have  no  reason  to  suspect 
that  he  would  be  guilty  of  a  criminal  act.  Indeed  I 
have  every  reason  to  believe  that  he  would  not." 

"  Your  knowledge  of  Mr.  Rathborne  differs  from 
mine,  then,"  said  Marion,  coldl3^  "  I  am  certain  that 
he  would  be  guilty  of  aii}^  act  which  would  serve  his 
purposes.  And  he  has  a  motive  for  this  which  renders 
distrust  necessary.  Therefore,  I  insist  upon  the 
appearance  of  Mr.  Singleton  and  the  establisliment  of 
his  identity  before  I  will  take  any  step  whatever 
toward  noticing  his  claim." 

"  It  is  only  a  measure  of  precaution,"  said  the 
lawyer,  "  and  very  well  thought  of.  You  have  an  un- 
commonly clear  head  for  business  for  a  young  lady.  I 
will,  then,  write  at  once  to  George  Singleton  ;  but  I  do 
not  advise  you  to  build  any  hope  on  the  probability  of 


236  FAIEY    GOLD. 

bis  proving  a  false  claimant.  This  conduct  is  alto- 
gether characteristic  of  him  ;  and  I,  for  one,  had  alwa3-s 
a  suspicion  that  he  was  not  dead.' 

"His  father,  however,  must  have  had  reason  for 
believing  him  so." 

"Perhaps  —  and  perhaps  not.  Mr.  Singleton  was 
a  man  of  the  strongest  passions,  and  his  son  had  out- 
raged him  in  everj^  particular.  When,  after  a  long 
course  of  disregarding  and  defying  his  father's  wishes, 
the  young  man  left  home  with  the  avowed  intention  of 
never  returning,  I  know  that  Mr,  Singleton  declared 
that  he  should  be  as  one  dead  to  him.  He  only  kept 
his  word  when  he  made  his  will." 

"  But  do  you  not  think  that  in  such  a  case  as  that 
he  would  have  mentioned  him,  if  onh'  to  declare  that 
he  disinherited  him  for  good  cause  ?  ' ' 

"It  was  not  necessary,  and  he  might  not  have 
desired  to  do  so.  He  was  a  singular  man  and  a  very 
reticent  one.  Even  I,  who  knew  him  so  long  and  so 
well,  have  no  idea  whether  he  had  any  knowledge  of 
his  son's  fate  or  not.  And  this  fact  makes  me  believe 
that  it  is  more  than  likely  that  George  Singleton  is 
alive  and  ready  to  claim  his  inheritance." 

"Let  him  come  and  do  it,  then,"  said  Marion. 
"That  is  all." 

And  in  this  decision  she  was  sustained  by  those  who 
as  well  as  herself  were  interested  in  upholding  the  will. 
Mr.  Tom  Singleton  shook  his  head,  and  agreed  with 
the  lawyer  that  such  a  course  of  conduct  was  very 
characteiistic  of  George  Singleton;  but  he  also  de- 
clared that  it  would  be  folly  to  run  any  risk  of  playing 
into  the  hands  of  a  false  claimant.  "  And  when  a 
man  has  disappeared  for  ten  or  fifteen  years  from  the 


FAIBY   GOLD.  237 

sight  and  knowledge  of  everyone  who  knew  him, 
there  is  reason  to  fear  that,  with  a  fortune  at  stake, 
he  might  be  personated  by  some  one  else,"  he  said. 
"  Such  things  have  happened  time  and  again.  You 
are  quite  right  to  insist  that  he  shall  show  himself. 
If  he  is  George  Singleton  I  shall  know  him  in 
half  a  minute,  and  then  we   can  decide  what  to  do." 

"  It  will  prove  to  be  George  Singleton,  I  am  sure," 
said  his  wife.  "He  was  always  a  malicious  wretch, 
don't  you  know?  And  this  is  just  like  him.  But  the 
puzzle  to  me  is,  how  did  he  find  out  how  things  were 
in  so  short  a  time?  " 

"  He  had  a  self-constituted  informant  here,"  said 
Marion.  "  Mr.  Rathborne  took  pains  to  discover  his 
whereabouts,  and  to  let  him  know  the  news  of  his 
father's  death  and  the  contents  of  his  father's  will, 
as  soon  as  possible." 

"Mr.  Rathborne  —  oh,  I  understand ! "  said  the  lady. 
"  Dear  me,  how  many  malicious  people  there  are  in 
the  world !  And  this  is  how  he  revenges  himself  for 
3'^our  little  flirtation  with  him,  and  for  the  loss  of  your 
cousin's  fortune!  Well,  m}"  dear,  I  must  sa}^  that 
you  are  likely  to  pay  heavil}^  for  what  could  not  have 
been  a  very  great  amusement." 

Hot  tears  of  mortification  suddenly  gathered  in 
Marion's  eyes.  Surely  this  was  humiliation,  to  see  her 
conduct  as  it  looked  in  the  ej-es  of  this  shallow  woman, 
and  to  be  pitied  (conscious  that  in  the  pity  there  was 
a  strain  of  exultation)  for  the  downfall  that  awaited 
her  from  Rathborne' s  revenge.  If  Helen  knew,  she 
might  hold  herself  well  avenged  ;  but,  then,  in  Helen's 
gentle  soul  there  was  no  room  for  any  revengeful 
sentiment. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

IT  was  soon  apparent  that  no  one  except  Marion  her- 
self had  any  doubt  but  that  George  Singleton  was 
alive,  and  that  it  was  himself  and  no  impostor, 
who  was  claiming  his  inheritance.  "  The  whole  thinsr 
is  so  exactly  like  hiui !  "  said  Mrs.  Singleton.  "  If  it 
were  not  malicious,  it  would  not  be  characteristic  of 
George.  He  wants  to  give  as  much  trouble  and  dis- 
appoint as  many  people  as  possible." 

"lie  must  possess  an  amiable  and  attractive  char- 
acter," said  Marion,  faintly  smiling.  But  as  she  smiled 
she  said  to  herself  that  it  was  very  evident  the  arrange- 
ment she  had  entered  into  with  jMrs.  Singleton  could  not 
stand .  If  the  latter  believed  that  it  was  only  a  question 
of  time  till  Mr.  Singleton's  son  should  appear,  what 
furtluT  need  was  there  for  her  to  conciliate  and  endure 
the  girl  who  would  soon  have  no  ])ower  to  return  her 
good  offices?  Instinctively  Marion  knew  that  she  was 
asking  herself  this  question,  and  that  it  was  best  it 
should  be  answered  at  once. 

"  I  have  been  thinking,"  she  observed,  aloud, 
"  that  since  there  seems  so  much  doubt  about  the 
result  of  this  matter,  it  will  not  be  well  for  me  to  make 
any  change  in  my  life  at  present.  Oar  arrangements 
had  better  be  deferred  indefinitely ;  and  meanwhile  1 
will  stay  here  until  Mr.  Singleton  arrives." 
(238) 


FAIRY   GOLD.  239 

Although  Mrs.  Singleton  possessed  considerable 
power  of  self-control,  she  could  not  prevent  her  face 
from  showing  the  relief  she  felt  at  these  words. 

"  I  suppose  it  will  really  be  best,"  she  said.   "  It 
would  be  very  awkward  for  us,  as  well  as  for  you, 
if  we  took  up  your  cause,   and,  as  it  were,  identified^ 
ourselves  with  it,  and  then. —  " 

"  And  then  I  relapsed  back  into  my  original  insig- 
nificance," said  Marion.  "Yes,  I  perceive.  And, 
believe  me,  I  have  no  desire  to  sail  for  a  time  under 
false  colors,  or  receive  any  attention  which  would  be 
paid  only  to  Mr.  Singleton's  heiress.  Moreover,  if 
the  business  ends  as  you  evidently  expect,  I  should 
have  no  power  to  return  the  obligation  under  which 
you  would  have  placed  me.  We  will,  therefore,  say  no 
more  about  our  plans,  and  I  will  quietly  remain  here." 

"But  you  can  not  remain  alone,  and  I  must  get. 
back  home — " 

"  Do  not  let  me  detain,  you  a  day,"  said  Marion, 
haughtily.  "  I  am  not  rich  in  friends,  but  I  can  find 
some  one  to  stay  with  me,  so  long  as  I  need  a  com- 
panion ;  and  it  is  only  a  question  of  money." 

"  Oh!  j'es,  mere  com'panions  can  be  found  in  suffi- 
cient number  —  people  who  will  be  delighted  to  come. 
But  3'ou  ought  to  have  some  social  protection,  some 
proper  chaperon  —  " 

"  If  all  were  settled  as  we  thought,  that  would  be 
necessary,"  Marion  interposed;  "but  since  I  may, 
very  likely,  soon  be  deprived  of  the  consequence  that 
Mr.  Singleton's  money  gives  me,  and  since  social  pro- 
tection and  proper  chaperonage  are  altogether  super- 
fluous for  a  girl  without  fortune,  I  need  not  trouble 
myself  about  them  in  this  short  interval  of  wailing." 


240  FAIBY   GOLD. 

Mrs.  Singleton  said  no  more,  but  she  confided  to 
her  husband  her  opinion  that  Marion  had  given  up 
all  hope  of  being  able  to  retain  the  fortune.  "And  it 
has  made  her  dreadfully  bitter,"  she  added.  "  You 
know  she  always  had  a  very  cynical  way  of  talking 
for  such  a  young  girl,  but  now  that  is  more  pronounced 
than  ever.  Disappointment  is  going  very  hard  with 
her.  I  am  almost  sorry  for  her,  although,  of  course, 
she  has  no  right  to  the  money  at  all." 

"  She  has  the  right  that  its  owner  chose  to  give  it  to 
her,"  said  philosophical  Mr.  Singleton. 

But,  although  Marion  put  a  bold  front  on  the 
matter  to  Mrs.  Suigleton,  her  heart  really  sank  at  the 
desolateness  of  her  position.  So  long  as  the  fortune 
was  still  hers,  she  could  buy  a  companion,  as  she  could 
buy  anything  else ;  but  she  saw  in  the  eyes  of  every- 
one around  her  the  settled  conviction  that  the  fortune 
would  be  no  longer  hers.     And  then  ? 

Meantime,  however,  it  was  necessary  to  make  some 
arrangement,  since  Mrs.  Singleton  was  eager  to  be 
gone  ;  and,  turning  over  in  her  mind  the  list  of  her  few 
acquaintances  in  Scarborough  —  for  friends  she  had 
none, —  Marion  was  asking  herself  rather  blankly  to 
which  one  she  could  appeal  for  advice  and  assistance 
in  her  dilemma,  when  a  servant  entered  with  the 
announcement  that  a  lady  desired  to  see  her. 

"  A  lady !  "  she  repeated.  "  Who  is  she?  Did  she 
give  no  name  or  card?  " 

The  servant  replied  that  the  lady  had  given  neither, 
but  that,  in  his  opinion,  she  was  a  genuine  visitor  — 
not  an  agent  for  patent  snap  or  anything  else  of  the 
kind. 

"I   suppose    I  had  better  see  her,"  said  Marion, 


FAIRY   GOLD.  241 

reluctantly;  "but   she  can  not   be  a  person   of  any 
importance,  or  she  would  have  sent  her  name." 

She  went  down  stairs,  slowly,  indifferently,  with  a 
sense  of  mental  lassitude  altogether  new  to  her, 
entered  the  drawing-room,  and  found  herself  face  to 
face  with  Helen.  She  uttered  a  cry  as  the  sweet, 
affectionate  face  she  knew  so  well  turned  toward 
her,  and  the  next  moment  they  were  in  each  other's 
arms, 

"  O  Mai'ion!  I  am  so  glad  that  you  are  glad  to 
see  me!"  were  Helen's  first  words.  *■' I  was  afraid 
that  you  might  not  be." 

"Afraid  that  I  might  not  be  glad  to  see  you!  "  said 
Marion.  "  How  cuuld  that  be?  —  what  reason  could 
I  have?  But,  O  Helen,  dear  Helen!  how  good  it  is 
of  you  to  be  glad  to  see  me!" 

"  I  know  no  reason  why  I  should  not  be,"  replied 
Helen.  "But  I  feared  that  there  might  be  some 
disagreeable  recollection  —  something  to  make  you 
shrink  from  seeing  me ;  so  I  thought  I  would  spare 
you  the  shrinking — I  would  let  you  have  the  shock 
at  once.  But  it  is  no  shock,  after  all.  The  moment 
I  saw  your  eyes,  I  knew  you  were  glad." 

"  Oh!  my  dear,  how  kind  you  are!  "  cried  Marion. 
"  Glad !  What  should  I  be  made  of  if  I  were  not  glad 
to  see  you  —  the  most  generous  heart  in  all  the  world ! 
But  when  did  j'^ou  come  back  to  Scarborough?  " 

"Last  night;  and  I  would  not  write  or  let  yoia 
know,  because  I  wanted  to  see  you  myself,  without 
any  warning.  And  so,  Marion,  your  great  desire  is 
accomplished  —  you  have  become  rich  since  I  went 
away!  " 

"  And  am  on  the  point  of  becoming  poor  again," 

16 


242  FAIRY   GOLD. 

said  Marion,  with  a  smile.  "Have  you  not  lieard 
that?" 

'"No:  I  have  heard  Dothing  —  but  how  can  tlial 
be?  —  how  can  30U  become  poor  again,  unless  you 
lose  Mr.  Singleton's  fortune?" 

"That  is  just  what  is  going  to  occur  —  at  least 
everyone  thinks  so.  IL  is  said  that  Mr.  Singleton's  son 
is  alive,  and  that  if  he  chooses  to  contest  the  will,  it 
can  not  stand." 

"  O  Marion !  how  sorry  I  am  !  "  —  the  eloquent  eyes 
said  so  indeed. —  "To  think  that  3'ou  should  have 
obtained  what  you  wanted  so  much,  only  to  lose  it  at 
once !  That  is  worse  than  if  you  had  never  possessed 
it." 

"And  do  you  see  no  retribution  in  it,  Helen?" 
asked  Marion,  ver}^  gravely.  "  Did  not  you,  too, 
want  something  very  much  —  the  happiness  that  had 
been  promised  you  all  your  life, —  and  did  yon  not  lose 
it  through  my  fault?  Believe  me,  I  have  thought  of 
this;  and,  thinking  of  it,  I  can  make  no  complaint." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  Helen,  while  a  shade  fell  over 
her  face,  "  that  you  should  speak  again  of  that.  I  do 
not  look  at  it  quite  as  you  do.  Happiness  ought  not 
to  be  our  end  in  life. —  I  am  not  very  wise,  but  I  know 
that,  because  I  have  faith  to  tell  me  so.  No  doubt  I 
thought  of  it  too  much  ;  but  even  when  I  felt  most 
about  losing  it,  I  was  sure  that  God  must  know  best, 
and  1  did  not  really  desire  anything  which  was  not 
according  to  His  will.  How  could  one  be  so  foolish 
as  to  do  that?  For  it  certainly  would  not  be  hap- 
piness if  it  did  not  have  God's  blessing  on  it." 

"  O  Helen!  Helen!  "  exclaimed  Marion.  It  was  a 
cry  of  mingled  wonder  and  self-scorn.     Somehow  the 


FAIBV    GOLD.  243 

simple  words  touched  lier  more  than  the  most  eloquent 
api)eal  of  any  preacher  could  have  done.  For  it  was 
Helen  who  spoke,  —  Helen,  who  had  just  learned  her 
wisdom  in  the  hard  school  of  practical  experience, 
and  who  spoke  thus  to  the  person  against  whom  her 
heart  might  have  been  most  bitter.  "  My  dear,"  she 
went  on  after  a  minute,  "you  are  so  good  that  you 
make  me  a^hamed.  I  have  learned  lately  —  yes,  even 
I  —  what  you  lost,  and  how  much  you  must  have 
suffered  in  the  loss.  It  was  through  my  own  fault  and 
by  my  own  choice  that  I  lost  my  happiness  ;  but  you 
were  blameless  as  an  angel,  and  yet  you  talk  like  an 
angel  about  it  —  " 

'•No,  no,"  said  Helen,  quickly;  "only  like  the 
most  ordinary  Catholic.  And  that  not  without  a 
struggle,  Marion.  Don't  fancy  me  better  than  I 
am." 

"  I  don't  fancy :  I  know  you  to  be  like  something 
angelic  compared  to  me,"  returned  Marion,  with  a 
sigh.  "  Do  you  think  that  I  ever  asked  myself  any- 
thing about  the  will  of  God?  I  never  even  thought  of 
Him  in  connection  with  my  desires." 

"  O  Marion!  " 

"  It  is  true.  Don't  expect  me  to  say  anything  else  ; 
for,  with  all  my  faults,  I  was  never  a  hypocrite,  you 
know.  I  thought  nothing  of  Him,  I  asked  nothing  of 
Him,  and  now  I  have  nothing  to  fall  back  upon.  My 
happiness,  like  yours,  is  gone  —  with  the  difference 
that  7  was  not  worthy  of  it,  whereas  you  were  saved 
from  a  man  who  was  not  worthy  of  you.  And  now 
the  money  for  which  I  was  ready  to  do  anything  and 
sacrifice  anything  is  in  jeopardy,  and  no  doubt  will 
soon  be  gone." 


24 1  FMUY    GOLD. 

"  Ha^  it  brought  you  salisf action  since  you  have 
had  it,  IMarion?" 

"  Do  not  ask  me!  "  she  said,  sharply.  "  What  is 
there  in  the  world  that  does  bring  satisfaction?  But 
when  I  give  it  up,  I  shall  have  nothing,  absolutely 
nothing,  left." 

"You  will  have  God's  providence,"  answered 
Helen,  gently.  "  Trust  a  Httle  to  that;  and  tell  me 
something  —  all  if  you  will  —  about  j^ourself , —  about 
what  has  happened  since  we  parted,  and  what  your 
plans  for  the  future  are." 

In  past  time,  though  Marion  had  always  loved  Helen, 
she  had  rather  despised  her  as  a  counselor  ;  but  now 
she  felt  it  a  relief  beyond  the  power  of  words  to  ex- 
press, to  open  her  heart,  to  tell  her  difficulties,  even  to 
ask  advice  from  one  of  whose  affection  and  interest 
she  was  so  secure.  For  had  she  not  lately  learned  how 
weary  life  can  be  when  it  holds  not  a  single  friend,  not 
one  heart  on  which  it  is  possible  to  rely  for  disinter- 
ested aid  or  counsel?  She  told  the  story  of  her  brief 
eno-ascement  to  Brian  Earle,  and  did  not  resent  the 
condemnation  which  she  read  in  Helen's  eyes.  Then  a 
harder  task  was  before  her —  to  speak  of  Rathborne's 
part  in  tlie  appearance  of  George  Singleton.  She 
touched  on  this  as  lightl}^  as  possible,  but  Helen 
quickly  seized  the  fact. 

"  And  so  it  was  Paul  who  found  him!  "  she  said. 
"  lam  sorry  for  that,  — sorry,  I  mean,  that  he  should 
have  taken  such  a  part  in  what  did  not  concern  him, 
from  the  motive  which  I  fear  actuated  him." 

"  He  took  pains  to  leave  me  in  no  doubt  what- 
ever about  his  motive,"  observed  Marion.  "  I  have 
seen  him  only  once,  and  then  I  bade  him  do  his  worst  — 


FA  I  in'   GOLD.  245 

produce  bis  client  witbout  loss  of  time.  When  be  is 
produced,  if  he  is  properly  identified,  mv  drtam  of 
riches  will  be  over;  for  I  'shall  give  up  the  estate 
without  a  contest.  But  I  will  not  give  it  up  until  I 
am  certain  that  I  shall  not  be  resigning  it  to  a  false 
claimant." 

"  You  do  not  think  that  Paul  Ratliborne  would  be 
guilty  of  fraud?"  said  Helen  quickly,  in  a  pained 
tone ;  for  the  loyal  heart  was  slow  to  resign  any  one 
for  whom  it  had  ever  cherished  an  affection  or  a 
trust. 

"  You  forget,"  said  Marion,  waiving  the  question 
whether  or  not  she  believed  Ralhborne  capable  of 
fraud,  "that  this  man  is  in  South  America,  and  no 
one  here  has  seen  him.  Mr.  Rathborne  has  only 
communicated  with  him  by  letters.  Now,  what 
would,  be  easier  than  for  some  unscrupulous  man  to 
write  in  George  Singleton's  name,  if  the  latter  were 
dead?  Such  things  are  of  common  occurrence.  But 
it  would  be  ditScuIt  to  personate  him  so  as  to  deceive 
the  many  people  who  have  known  him  ;  and  that  is 
why  1  will  take  no  step,  nor  even  consider  the  matter, 
until  he  has  been  produced.^' 

"  I  suppose  that  is  best,"  answered  Helen.  "  And 
meanwhile  what  are  you  going  to  do?  " 

"  1  am  going  to  stay  here,  with  what  patience  I  may. 
How  I  am  to  live  alone,  I  do  not  exactly  see  —  for 
Mrs.  Singleton  is  going  away  ;  but  now  that  I  have 
you  again,  I  have  taken  heart.  Y'ou  will  recommend 
some  one  to  stay  with  me." 

"  I  will  do  better  than  that:  I  will  take  you  home 
with  me." 

"  Oh,  no!  "  said  Marion,  shrinking  a  little;   ''  that 


246  FAIIiY    GOLD. 

can  not  be.  It  is  like  you,  dear  Helen,  to  propose  it ; 
but  I  do  not  tliiuk  my  aunt  would  like  —  stop !  1  know 
she  would  be  kind,  aud  try  not  to  show  what  she  felt; 
but  I  should  be  aware  of  it  —  aware  that  she  has  no 
respect  for  me  iu  her  heart,  and  1  should  be  more  ill 
at  ease  there  than  here.  This  is  my  home  for  the 
present ;  it  may  not  be  so  long,  and  I  may  never  have 
another.  So  let  me  keep  it  while  I  may.  Find  me 
some  good,  quiet  womau — you  know  everyone  iu 
Scarborough  —  to  stay  with  me  ;  and  come  j^ourself 
whenever  you  can,  and  I  shall  be  content." 

"  There  will  be  no  difficulty  in  finding  such  a  per- 
son as  3'ou  want,"  said  Helen.  ''  But  I  think  my 
plan  is  best." 

Marion  shook  her  head.  "No,"  she  insisted.  "I 
abused  j'our  hospitality  once.  I  can  never  forget 
that ;  and  I  do  not  think  that,  kind  and  good  as  slie 
is,  my  aunt  will  ever  forget  it ;  so  do  not  let  us  talk 
of  mj'  going  to  you.  Some  day,  perhaps,  if  I  have  no 
other  refuge  in  the  world,  I  may  come  and  ask  30U  for 
a  shelter,  but  not  now." 

She  was  immovable  in  this,  even  when  Mrs.  Dalton 
seconded  Helen's  invitation ;  and  so  they  did  wliat 
she  asked  —  found  a  pleasant,  quiet,  elderly  lady  to 
stay  with  her  ;  and  let  her  have  her  own  way. 

It  was  a  strange  time,  the  period  of  waiting  which 
followed  —  a  kind  of  interlude,  a  breathing  space,  as 
it  were,  between  the  rush  of  events  which  had  reached 
this  conclusion,  and  other  events  which  were  to  follow 
and  change  life  yet  again,  in  what  degree  no  one 
could  say.  It  seemed  to  Marion  that  she  could 
hardly  be  said  to  live  during  these  weeks.  She 
merely  existed  —  in   a  state    partly   of    expectation, 


FAIBY   GOLD.  247 

partly  of  that  lassitude  which  follows  a  high  degree 
of  mental  as  well  as  physical  tension.  She  liad  passed 
rapidly  through  man}-  experiences,  many  intense 
emotions ;  and  now,  menaced  by  others  of  which  she 
could  not  see  the  end,  she  suddenly  sank  down  to  rest, 
like  a  soldier  on  the  field  of  battle. 

She  had  but  two  sources  of  pleasure  during  this 
time:  one  was  Helen's  companionship,  which  she  had 
never  before  valued  or  appreciated;  the  other,  the 
services  of  tlie  Catholic  church.  The  plain  little 
chapel,  whicli  had  at  first  repelled  her,  began  to  seem 
to  her  like  a  true  home  of  the  soul ;  religious  influ- 
ences sank  more  and  more  deeply  into  her  heart;  and 
dimly,  as  new  ideas  shape  and  j^resent  themselves, 
there  bejjau  to  dawn  on  her  the  meanino;  of  Helen's 
simple  words.  "It  certainly  would  not  be  happiness 
if  it  did  not  have  God"s  blessing  on  it,"  Helen  l;ad 
said.  Was  it  because  no  blessing  of  God  had  been 
on  her  happiness  that,  in  every  form,  it  had  so 
quickly  eluded  her  grasp?  She  asked  herself  this 
question,  and  when  a  soul  has  once  asked  it  the 
answer  is  not  long  in  coming.  But  w'hether  or  not  it 
will  be  heeded  when  it  comes,  is  too  often  a  matter 
of  doubt.  Impressions  pass  quickly,  the  swaj'  of  the 
world  is  hard  to  break,  and  who  can  tell  how  far  the 
poor  soul  vaay  be  swept  into  storm  and  darkness  before 
it  is  brought  safe  into  port  at  last? 


CHAPTER   XXIY. 

THE  period  of  waiting  ended  veiy  abruptly  one 
daj'.  It  was  by  this  time  soft,  Indian-summer 
weather ;  and  Marion  was  seated  in  the  garden 
■with  Helen  one  afternoon,  mellow  sunshine  and  brill- 
iant masses  of  flowers  all  around  them,  when  a 
servant  appeared  with  the  intelligence  that  Mr.  Single- 
ton was  in  the  house  and  wished  to  see   her. 

"Mr.  Singleton!  "  she  repeated,  a  little  startled. 
"What  Mr.  Singleton?" 

"Mr.  Tom,  ma'am,"  repeated  the  servant,  who  had 
been  accustomed  to  distinguish  him  in  this  manner 
during  the  life  of  the  elder  Mr.  Singleton. 

"  Oh!  "  she  said.  And  then  she  turned  to  Helen 
with  a  faint  smile.  "  I  don't  know  whether  I  am 
relieved  or  disappointed,"  she  observed.  "  I  thought 
it  was  the  other." 

"  But  the  other  would  hardly  be  likely  to  come 
without  warning  —  and  alone,"  returned  Helen. 

"  That  is  very  true.  But  I  wonder  what  this  Mr. 
Singleton  can  want  —  if  he  has  any  news?  " 

"You  can  only  find  out  by  going  to  see,"  said 
Helen. 

"Yes,"  assented  Marion.     She  rose  as  she  spoke, 
and  made  a  few  steps  toward  the  house,  then  paused 
(248) 


I 


FAIBY   GOLD.  249 

and  looked  back  like  one  who  is  taking  a  farewell. 
"  The  crisis  must  be  at  hand,"  she  said.  "  I  feci  as 
if  I  were  on  the  verge  of  a  great  cliansfe.  When  I  see 
you  flgain,  Helen,  I  may  be  dispossessed  of  all  my 
riches." 

"Don't  talk  nonsense!  "  said  Helen,  in  a  matter- 
of-facfc  way.  ','  How  can  you  be  dispossessed  in  so 
short  a  time?  " 

The  other  laughed.  "  '  If  'twere  done  when  'tis 
done,  then  'twere  well  it  were  done  quickly,'  "  she 
said,  and  so  went  on  towa'd  the  bouse. 

Mr,  Singleton,  who  was  awaiting  her  in  the  drawing- 
room,  came  forward  and  shook  hands  very  cordially. 
They  had  always  been  good  friends,  and  he  had  a  very 
kind  feeling  toward  the  beautiful  and  comparatively 
friendless  girl.  This  kindness  had  now  an  emphasis, 
which  she  perceived,  together  with  something  of  com- 
passion.    She  looked  at  hiin  and  smiled. 

"  Has  the  true  heir  appeared.?  "  she  asked  ;  "  and 
have  you  come  to  warn  me  to  prepare  for  abdication  ?  " 

"  How  shrewd  you  are!  "  he  said.  But,  in  truth, 
he  was  much  relieved  that  she  was  shrewd  enough  to 
divine  the  object  of  his  visit, —  a  visit  which  it  had 
required  a  considerable  effort  on  liis  part  to  under- 
take. "The  true  heir — if  you  consider  him  so  — 
has  appeared  ;  but  there  is  no  question  of  abdication 
for  you.  He  will  be  very  glad  if  you  consent  to  com- 
promise, and  so  save  him  a  contest  over  the  will." 

She  sat  down  in  a  chair  conveniently  near,  looking  a 
little  pale.  Notwithstanding  her  question,  she  had 
not  really  anticipated  such  positive  assurance  at  once  ; 
and  recognizing  this,  Mr,  Singleton  regretted  having 
been  so  abrupt. 


250  FAIRY  GOLD. 

"  I  thought  you  expected  it,"  he  said ;  "  but  I  see 
that  you  were  not  quite  prepared.     I  am  sorry —  " 

She  put  up  her  hand  with  a  gesture  which  stopped 
his  words.  "  There  is  nothing  for  which  to  be  sorry," 
she  said,  "  Of  course  I  expected  it,  but  perhaps  not 
so  immediately  or  so  positively.  But  I  don't  mean  to 
be  foolish :  I  intend  to  be  quite  cool  and  business-like. 
Mr.  George  Singleton  has  arrived,  then.  Have  you 
recognized  him.''" 

"  Ptrfecily.  He  has  changed  very  little,  considering 
all  things,  and  there  ctiu  be  no  question  of  his  identity." 

"  Are  the  other  members  of  the  family,  and  friends 
of  the  family,  as  positive  as  yourself?  " 

"Yes:  no  one  has  a  doubt  but  that  it  is  George. 
In  fact,  no  one  could  have  a  doubt  who  had  ever 
known  him.  He  was  twenty  years  old  wlien  he  went 
away,  and  of  a  very  marked  personal  api)earance. 
The  change  of  sixteen  years  is  by  no  means  so  great 
as  might  be  imagined.  Appearance,  manner,  habits  — 
all  prove  that  he  is  George  himself.  Indeed  I  must  be 
quite  frank  and  tell  you  tliat  there  is  not  even  a  peg 
on  which  to  hang  a  doubt  of  his  identity." 

She  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  in  silence,  her 
brow  drawn  together  by  the  earnestness  with  which 
she  seemed  trying  to  read  his  face.  At  length  she 
said,  slowly:  '' I  must  trust  your  opinion  ;  I  have  no 
one  else  to  trust.  And  I  do  not  think  you  would 
deceive  me." 

"I  certainly  would  not,"  he  answered,  gravely. 
' '  Why  should  I  ?  Putting  honor  aside,  I  have  nothing 
to  gain  by  espousing  George  Singleton's  cause.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  I  do  nut  espouse  it  at  all.  I  merely 
come  to  you  as  a  friend,  and  ttll  you  that  he  is  cer- 


FAIBY   GOLD.  251 

tainly  the  man  he  claims  to  be.  And,  under  these 
cimimstances,  I  think  j'our  best  plan  will  be  lo  com- 
promise with  him  as  speedily  as  possible." 

"Of  that  there  is  no  question  in  my  mind,"  she 
said,  with  her  old  air  of  pride.  "  If  I  could,  I  would 
not  retain  the  fortune  of  a  man  whose  son  is  living. 
Tell  Mr.  George  Singleton  that  I  will  turn  over  his 
father's  estate  to  him  as  soon  as  may  be." 

"  But  that,"  said  Mr.  Singleton,  with  euerg}',  "  can 
not  be  allowed.  As  one  of  the  executors  of  ihe  will,  I 
should  protest  against  it.  Whether  my  uncle  believed 
in  the  death  of  his  son  or  not,  we  can  not  know, 
neither  can  we  know  how  he  would  have  acted  if  he 
had  certainly  been  aware  of  his  existence.  All  that 
we  have  to  deal  with  is  the  simple  fact  that  he  left  his 
fortune  to  j'ou  without  even  mentioning  his  son's 
name  ;  and  this  being  so,  it  is  not  demanded  of  you  — 
it  is  neither  just  nor  right  —  that  you  should  turn  it  all 
over  to  hira." 

"  But  he  is  the  natural  and  rightful  heir  to  it,  and 
no  one  shall  ever  say  of  me  that  I  grasped  or  held 
what  rightfully  belonged  to  another." 

"  My  dear  3'onng  lad^',  you  said  a  moment  ago  that 
you  inlended  to  be  quite  cool  and  business-like  in  dis- 
cussing this  matter.  Allow  me,  then,  to  put  it  before 
you  in  its  business-like  aspect.  You  are  at  the  pres- 
ent time  the  lawful  possessor  of  my  uncle's  fortune 
by  his  direct  bequest,  and  unless  the  courts  set  aside 
his  will  you  must  remain  so.  Tlie  issue  of  an  attempt 
to  set  aside  the  will  is,  of  course,  uncertain ;  and  the 
contest  would  be  long,  troublesome  and  costl}'  to  all 
concerned.  Recognizing  these  facts,  George  Single- 
ton says  that  he  is  willing  to  agree  on  a  liberal  basis 


2;") 2  FAIRY   GOLD. 

of  comprom'se.  And,  since  ra}^ uncle  certainly  wished 
you  to  have  all  his  fortune  why  should  you  refuse  to 
retain  a  part  of  it?  " 

'•i  have  already  told  you,  because  in  justice  it 
belongs  to  his  son ;  and  why  should  I  keep  a  part  any 
more  than  the  whole  of  what  is  not  justly  mini'  ?  " 

Mr  Singleton  had  an  air  of  saying  to  himself, 
"  Heaven  grant  me  patience!  "  but,  possessing  a  good 
deal  of  that  quality,  he  said  aloud  :  "  How  in  the  name 
of  common-seiire  can  that  be  held  to  belong  to  George 
Singlelon  which  has  been  given  to  you?  Honestly, 
if  you  divide  with  him  it  is  as  much  as  you  can  be 
expected  to  do." 

"  It  is  something  I  should  despise  myself  for  doing," 
she  said,  with  a  sudden  flush  of  color  in  htr  face. 
"You  are  very  kind,  Mr.  Singleton,  and  I  really 
believe  that  you  are  considering  my  iniertst  in  this 
matter.  But  you  forget  the  position  I  occupy  —  that 
of  an  interloper  \,ho  has  come  into  take  a  fortune  away 
from  iis  natural  heirs,  and  who,  no  doubt,  is  he'd  to 
have  schemed  to  that  end.  You  know  better  than 
that,  I  am  sui'e ;  but  the  world  does  not  know  better, 
and  Mr.  George  Singleton  does  not  know  better. 
Now,  I  shall  be  glad  to  prove  that,  although  I  value 
wealth  and  desire  wealth  —  why  should  I  deny  it?  —  I 
would  not  acquii'c  it  at  the  cost  of  my  self-respect. 
Since  you  say  Mr.  Singleton's  son  is  certainly  living, 
I  do  not  feel  that  I  have  any  right  to  keep  his  fortune 
any  longer  than  I  can  put  it  out  of  my  hands.  Pray 
be  good  enough  to  tell  him  so." 

"  ^\y  dear  Miss  Lynde,  I  can  not  agree  to  tell  him 
anything  of  the  kinl.  Y'Hi  must  positively  take  time 
for  consideration  and  advice." 


FAIBY   GOLD.  253 

She  shook  her  head.  '•  I  do  not  need  time,  and  I 
shall  certainly  not  seek  advice.  I  have  already  made 
up  m}'  mind  what  to  do.  Can  you  imagine  that  I  have 
not  considered  this  in  the  weeks  that  I  have  been 
waiting?  If  j'ou  decline  to  give  my  message  to  Mr. 
Singleton,  I  shall  have  to  communicate  with  him 
directly  myself." 

"  It  would  be  best  that  you  should  communicate 
with  him  directly,  if  you  could  by  that  means  be 
brought  to  look  at  the  matter  in  a  reasonable  light, 
and  see  that  there  is  no  possible  cause  why  it  should 
not  be  arranged  on  the  basis  of  a  liberal  compromise. 
Half  a  million  is  surely  enough  to  divide." 

She  put  out  her  hands,  as  if  to  push  the  proposal 
from  her.  '•  I  will  not  hear  of  it,"  she  said.  "  I  will 
not  seem  to  grasp  mone}^  whicli  is  not  mine.  Do  not 
argue  the  point  further,  Mr.  Singleton.  I  appreciate 
your  kindness,  but  I  can  not  yield." 

"Well,"  he  said  reluctantly,  ''I  am  sorry  for  it. 
Believe  me  you  are  making  a  great  mistake,  and  one 
which,  in  the  nature  of  things,  you  must  regret  as 
time  go<  s  on.  We  are  not  young  and  impuUive  for- 
ever, and  some  da}^  ynu  will  say,  '  I  had  a  right  to 
my  share  of  that  fortune,  and  I  was  wrong  to  give  it 
up.'  " 

"  It  maj'^  be,"  she  answered  ;  "  but  I  can  not  keep 
it  now  —  I  can  not!  Wliere  is  I^Ir.  Geor'je  Single- 
ton?—  where  can  I  address  him,  if  you  will  not  take 
ray  message  to  him?  It  is  impossible  for  me  to 
address   hira  through  his  lawyer." 

"  He  will  have  no  use  for  a  lawyer  if  you  pers'vere 
in  3'our  intention,"  said  INIr.  Singleton,  shrugging  his 
shoulders.     "  As  for  his  addre-s,  he  is  here  in  Scar- 


254  FAIEY    GOLD. 

borough,  and  quite  ready  to  wait  upon  you  at  j'our 
convenience,   if  you  will  receive  him." 

She  started.  This  was  coming  a  little  closer  than 
she  anticipated.  And  yet,  she  asked  herself,  why 
not?  " 'Twere  well  it  were  done  quickly,"  and  it 
seemed  likely  now  to  be  done  quickly  enough.  After 
a  moment  she  said,  steadily:  "There  is  no  reason 
why  I  should  not  receive  him  whenever  he  likes  to 
come,  since  you  assure  me  that  he  is  really  the  man 
he  claims  to  be." 

"  Of  that  there  can  be  no  doubt." 

"  Then  let  him  come  —  the  sooner  the  better.  But 
do  not  let  him  bring  Mr.  Rathborne  with  him.  That 
person  I  cannot  receive." 

"  I  will  come  with  him  myself,"  said  Mr.  Singleton. 
"  I  should  not  have  thought  of  doing  otherwise." 

She  held  out  her  hand  to  him  with  a  grateful  ges- 
ture. "  You  are  very  good  to  me  —  very  kind,"  she 
said.     "  I  shall  never  forget  it." 

"  I  wish  you  would  let  me  be  of  some  use  to  you, 
by  taking  my  advice,"  he  answered. 

But  when  he  went  away  it  was  with  the  reflection 
that  women  are  surel}'^  obstinate  creatures ;  and,  how- 
ever charming  they  may  be,  they  are,  as  a  rule,  quite 
devoid  of  reason.  Marion  had  proved  immovable  in 
her  resolution,  as  also  in  her  determination  not  to  take 
advice  on  it.  Once  fully  assured  that  the  man  pur- 
porting to  be  Mr.  Singleton's  son  was  really  so,  her 
mind  was  made  up  what  to  do.  She  went  back  into 
the  garden  like  one  moving  in  a  dream,  and  told 
Helen  the  news. 

"The  fairy  tale  is  over,"  she  said;  "my  fairy 
fortune  is  about  to  slip  away  from  me.     Am  I  sorry  ? 


FAIRY    GOLD.  255 

I  tliink  I  am  more  apathetic  just  now  than  either  glad 
or  sorry.  It  has  not  brought  me  one  day  of  happi- 
ness, Lut  I  know  the  worhl  will  enough  to  bu  aware 
that  it  is  better  to  be  rich  and  unhappy  than  poor  and 
unhappy.  Poverty  aggravates  every  other  evil ;  and 
yet  I  am  not  grieved  to  have  the  opportunity  to  prove 
that  I  am  not  so  mercenary  as  —  some  people  doubt- 
less believe  me.  Brian  Earle  will  not  think  that  1 
have  schemed  for  his  inheritance  when  he  learns  that 
I  have  voluntarily  given  it  up  to  his  cousin." 

Helen  looked  up  with  a  keenness  of  perception 
"which  was  rather  unusual  in  her  soft  eyes.  "  I 
think."  she  said,  "that  that  is  the  consideration 
which  moves  you  chieflv.  But  is  it  altogether  a  right 
consideration?  ■  Mr.  Earle  does  not  injure  you  by 
believing  what  is  untrue  of  you,  but  you  will  injure 
yourself  b}^  giving  up  everything,  and  sui  ely  3  ou  are 
not  bound  to  do  so.  If  Mr.  Singleton  had  not  desired 
}  ou  to  have  part  at  least  of  his  fortune,  he  would  nev<.  r 
have  lift  you  all  of  it." 

"  One  would  think  3  ou  had  heard  the  arguments  of 
the  gentleman  who  has  just  gone  awa}',"  said  Marion,^ 
smiling.  "  Dear  Helen,  don't  make  me  go  over 
it  all  again.  I  fear  that  it  is  more  pride  than  con- 
science which  makes  me  feel  that  1  must  resign  the 
fortune.  But  I  can  never  recover  my  own  self- 
respect  until  I  have  done  so.  And  my  own  self-respect 
is  not  anotljer  name  for  the  respect  of  Brian  P2arle. 
If  I  were  conscious  of  being  right  I  might  not  care 
that  he  thought  ill  of  me;  but  my  own  judgment 
echoes  his.  I  have  been  willing  to  barter  ever}thin^ 
of  value  in  life  for  moue}',  and  now  it  is  right  enough 
that  the  money  should  bo  taken  from  me.     I  feel  as. 


256  FAIRY   GOLD. 

if  by  giving  it  up  altogetlier  I  might  recover,  not  what 
I  have  lost—  I  do  not  dream  of  that,—  but  the  right 
to  hope  for  some  form  of  happiness  again." 

Helen  gravely  shook  her  head.  "  You  talk  like  a 
pagan,"  she  said.  "  All  this  sounds  like  propitiating 
gods,  and  sacrificing  to  fate,  and  things  of  that  kind. 
The  fact  is.  you  are  trusting  entirely  to  your  own  judg- 
ment in  the  matter,  and  that  is  strange  ;  for  there 
seems  to  me  a  point  of  conscience  involved.  Either 
you  have  a  right  to  a  part  of  this  fortune,  or  you  have 
not.  If  you  have,  why  should  you  give  it  away  to  a 
man  who  does  not  ask  it  and  does  not  need  it?  While 
if  you  have  not  a  right,  there  would  be  no  more  to  be 
said  about  it;  you  would  have  the  consciousness  of 
some  firm  ground  under  your  feet,  and  no  reason 
hereafter  for  regret." 

"  Helen,  you  astonish  me !  "  said  Marion,  who  cer- 
tainly looked  astonished  at  this  unexpected  view  of  the 
case.  "  How  on  earth  did  you  contrive  to  get  at  the 
kernel  of  the  thing  in  that  manner?  " 

"  Why,  there  is  nothing  surprising  in  that," 
remarked  Helen.  "  It  is  the  way  any  Catholic  would 
look  at  it.  Things  like  that  never  trouble  us.  There 
is  always  a  plain  right  or  a  i)lain  wrong." 

"  And  where  do  you  find  the  law  or  rule  by  means 
of  which  to  tell  what  is  right  and  what  is  wrong  ?  " 

"There  is  no  difficulty  in  that."  was  the  reply. 
*'  We  have  certain  very  clear  rules  given  us,  and  if 
there  is  any  difficulty  in  their  application  we  know 
where  to  go  to  have  the  difficulty  solved." 

"•  To  a  priest,  I  suppose?  " 

"Yes,  to  a  priest.  You  can  not  think  that  strange 
if  you  remember  that  the  priest  is  trained  in  the  most 


FAIRY   GOLD.  257 

special  and  careful  manner,  as  well  as  enlightened 
by  God,  in  order  to  enable  him  to  deal  with  such 
difficulties." 

There  was  silence  for  a  minute  or  two,  while  Marion, 
leaning  back  in  her  chair,  looked  up  at  the  deep-blue 
sk}',  and  some  golden  boughs  that  crossed  it.  Pres- 
ently she  said,  iu  a  meditative  tone :  — 

''  There  do  not  seem  to  be  any  difficulties  to  speak 
of  in  this  case,  but  I  should  not  mind  putting  it  before 
some  one  altogether  outside  of  it,  and  without  an}'  in- 
terest in  it.  Still,  I  could  not  go  to  a  priest,  because 
I  am  no  Catholic." 

"  You  are  more  of  a  Catholic  than  anything  else," 
said  Helen.  "You  know  that.  And  I  think  if  you 
went  to  Father  Byrne,  and  put  the  abstract  question 
to  him,  he  would  tell  you  what  is  right." 

"  You  forget  that  I  have  no  right  to  go  to  him.  It 
would  be  presumption  on  m}'  part.  Why  should  I, 
who  do  not  belong  to  his  people,  trouble  him  with  my 
personal  affairs?  " 

Helen  smiled.  "You  don't  know  Father  Bj'rne," 
she  answered.  "  He  is  always  glad  lo  serve  an}'^  one. 
I  know  that,  even  as  a  friend,  he  would  gladly  advise 
you.     I  will  ask  him,  if  3'ou  consent." 

"Ask  him  what?  " 

"To  see  you  and  tell  you  what  he  thinks." 

"  Helen,  yoa  should  not  tempt  me  to  make  myself 
a  nuisance.  Besides,  Father  Byrne  does  not  like  me, 
and  that  renders  me  more  reluctant  to  trouble  him." 

"  What  has  put  such  an  absurd  idea  into  j'our  head? 
Whv  sliould  he  not  like  you?  " 

"  Why  ?  Ah !  who  can  answer  such  questions  ?  But 
really  in  this  case  there  is  an  eas}'^  answer.     He  thinks 

17 


258  FAIl^Y   GOLD. 

m<i  an  objectionable  sort  of  girl ;  I  used  to  see  it  in 
his  face  when  we  met  at  your  mother's  house.  He 
would  look  at  me  sometimes  with  a  mild  but  quite  de- 
cided disapproval  when  I  had  been  saying  something 
particularly  frivolous  or  satirical ;  and  1  did  not  blame 
him  in  the  least.  How  could  he  approve  of  me  ?  You 
are  the  type  of  girl  that  he  approves,  and  he  is  quite 

right." 

"  Marion,   I  wish  you  would  not  say  such  things." 

"  But  they  are  true  things.  And,  then,  of  course 
he  knows  the  story  of  how  your  engagement  ended, 
and  very  likely  thinks  me  worse  than  I  am  in  regard 
to  that.  Then  I  am  worldly  to  the  tips  of  my  fingers  ; 
I  have  inherited  a  fortune  to  which  I  have  no  right, 
and  —  well,  there  is  no  good  in  going  on.  These  are 
quite  sufficient  reasons  why  Father  Byrne  does  not 
like  me,   and  why  I  should  not  trouble  him." 

"All  this  is  absolute  nonsense;  and  I  will  prove 
that  it  is,  if  you  do  not  positively  object.  I  will  go 
to  him  and  ask  him  to  see  you,  and  you  will  find  how 
quickly  he  will  say  yes." 

Marion  laughed  a  little  —  a  laugh  without  any  mer- 
riment, only  a  kind  of  sad  self-scorn.  "Upon  my 
word,"  she  said,  "  I  am  in  so  weak  a  frame  of  mind 
that  a  straw  might  influence  me  ;  and  this  being  so,  it 
is  a  comfort  to  trust  to  you,  who  will  never  lead  any 
one  wrong.  Go  to  Father  Byrne,  if  you  will;  but 
don't  be  surprised  if  he  decUnes  to  have  anything  to 
do  with  me." 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

IT  was  without  the  least  fear  of  Father  Byrne's 
declining  to  have  anything  to  do  with  Marion  that 
Helen  went  to  him  —  and  it  was  something  of  a 
shock  to  her  to  find  that  Marion  had  been  right  in  lier 
opinion,  and  that  he  very  much  disapproved  of  and 
distrusted  that  fascinating  young  lady.  He  looked 
troubled  at  her  request,  and  put  out  his  lip  in  a  way 
he  had  when  anything  perplexed  him. 

"  My  dear  child,"  he  said,  hesitatingly,  "  I  really 
don't  see  what  I  can  do  for  your' cousin.  She  is  not 
a  Catholic,  she  does  not  come  to  me  for  religious 
advice  ;  and  if  she  wants  a  worldly  opinion,  there  are 
many  people  who  could  give  it  much  better  and  with 
much  more  propriety  than  I." 

"  She  does  not  think  so,  Father,  and  neither  do  I. 
It  is  not  merely  a  worldly  opinion,  tbough  it  regards 
worldly  matters  ;  but  a  point  where  conscience  comes 
in,  and  she  wants  to  know  what  is  right." 

"  But  why  come  to  me?  "  he  asked.  "  Has  she  not 
her  own  spiritual  guides?  " 

"Marion!"  said  Helen.  She  laughed  a  little. 
"I  cannot  fancy  Marion  regarding  any  Protestant  as 
a  spiritual  guide ;  and  since,  as  you  say,  she  is  not  a 
Catholic,  she  has  none  at  all.     But  I  believe  that  her 

(259) 


260  FAIRY   GOLD. 

becoming  a  Catholic  is  only  a  question  of  time,  and 
therefore  she  will  have  confidence  in  your  opinion." 

Father  Byrne  put  out  his  lip  still  farther  and  shook 
his  head.  "I  do  not  know  very  mtich  of  the  young 
lady,"  he  replied;  "but  from  what  I  do  know  I 
should  say  that  her  ever  becoming  a  Catholic  is  more 
than  doubtful." 

"I  am  afraid  that  you  are  prejudiced  agaiust  her, 
Father,"  said  Helen. 

"I  think  not,"  he  answered,  gravely.  "Why 
should  I  be  prejudiced  against  any  one.?  But  I 
should  profit  very  little  by  my  experience  of  the  world 
if  I  did  not  learn  to  judge  character  from  some  mani- 
festations. I  do  not  wish  to  sa}'  anything  severe  of 
your  cousin,  my  child,  but  she  has  not  impressed  me 
favorably. ' ' 

"Poor Marion!  "  said  Helen.  "  She  is  and  always 
has  been  her  own  worst  enemy.  .  Nobody  knows 
her  as  well  as  I  do.  Father —  that  is,  nobody  except 
Claire  ;  —  and  know  how  much  good  there  really  is 
in  her.  All  that  is  worse  is  on  the  surface ;  and  she 
shows  it  so  recklessly  that  people  think  there  is  noth- 
ing else.  But  I  see  a  great  change  in  her  of  late,  and 
I  think  it  would  be  well  to  encourage  her  in  an3'thing 
that  draws  her  nearer  to  religious  influences.  There- 
fore, if  it  is  not  asking  too  much  of  you  to  see  her 
and  give  her  a  little  advice  on  this  matter,  which  is  so 
important  to  her,  I  should  be  very  glad." 

"Should  you?"  asked  the  good  priest,  smiling. 
"Well,  to  make  you  glad  in  such  an  unselfish  way  I 
would  do  a  good  deal.  There  is  really  no  reason 
why  I  should  not  give  Miss  Lynde  the  counsel  she 
asks,  though  it  is  rather  curious  that  she  should  seek 


FAIRY   aOLB.  261 

it  from  me.  You  can  bring  her  to  me  whenever  it  is 
convenient  for  you;  and,  if  she  does  not  object,  I 
should  wish  you  to  be  present  at  the  interview." 

"  She  will  not  object,"  answered  Helen  ;  "  and  it  is 
very  good  of  you  to  consent.  I  can  bring  her  imme- 
diately, for  I  left  her  in  the  church  while  I  came  to 
you.  There  is  need  for  haste,  because  to-morrow 
probably  she  will  have  to  decide  finally  what  she  is 
to  do." 

"Bring  her,  then,  at  once,"  said  Father  Byrne, 
with  an  air  of  resignation.  He  felt,  though  he  did 
not  say,  that  his  own  people  troubled  him  quite  suffi- 
ciently with  their  personal  affairs,  without  an  outsider 
finding  it  expedient  to  throw  upon  him  the  very  per- 
plexing burden  of  decision  in  an  affair  which  involved 
the  interests  of  others.  And  Marion  Lynde  was  the 
last  person  with  whose  affairs  he  would  have  wished 
to  be  concerned  in  the  least  degree.  If  any  one 
beside  Helen  had  come  to  him  in  her  behalf,  he  would 
certainly  have  refused  to  do  so  ;  but  it  was  impossible 
for  him  to  refuse  Helen.  It  was  not  only  that  he  was 
attached  to  her,  as,  in  one  degree  or  another,  every 
one  who  knew  her  was  ;  but  he  was  specially  touched 
by  her  interest  in  and  kindness  to  one  who  had  cer- 
tainly been  the  cause  of  much  pain  to  her,  if  not  of 
serious  injuiy.  "If  she  had  not  the  most  generous 
heart  in  the  world,  she  would  not  vex  herself  about 
Miss  Lynde's  affairs,"  he  said  to  himself  ;  "  but  since 
she  does,  I  should  not  mind  helping  l^er  a  little." 

So  it  came  to  pass  that  Helen  brought  Marion  from 
the  church  to  the  pastoral  residence  adjoining,  where 
they  found  Father  Byrne  awaiting  them  in  the  plainly- 
furnished  sitting-room,  which  had  yet  a  picturesque. 


262  FAIRY    GOLD. 

monastic  suggestion  from  the  religious  objects  that 
were  its  only  adornments,  and  its  latticed  windows 
opening  on  depths  of  verdure.  The  priest  received 
them  kindly;  and  then,  with  some  inward  nervous- 
ness, though  outward  composure,  Marion  opened  iier 
subject. 

"  I  feel  that  I  have  no  right  at  all  t:)  come  to  you, 
Father,  and  trouble  you  with  my  private  matters ;  but 
perhaps  your  kindness  will  lead  you  to  excuse  me  on 
the  ground  that  there  is  no  one  else  to  whom  I  can  go. 
I  have  not  many  friends,  and  among  them  there  is  not 
one  person  whose  judgment  in  this  case  would  not 
have  an  interested  bias.  Besides,  I  should  like  to 
know  what  is  the  moral  view  of  it  —  the  really  right 
thing  to  do, —  and  you,  if  you  will,  can  tell  me  that." 

"  I  can  give  you  the  view  wliich  wouLl  be  presented 
to  a  Catholic,"  said  Father  Byrne  ;  "  but  you  will  not 
recognize  anything  binding  in  that." 

"  I  shall  be  bound  by  whatever  you  tell  me  is 
right,"  she  answered,  simply.  "  I  do  not  seek  your 
advice  without  meaning  to  be  guided  by  it,  else  there 
w^ould  be  no  excuse  for  coming  to  you.  I  beg  you  to 
speak  as  frankly  as  if  you  were  addressing  a  Cath- 
olic." 

"Tell  me,  then,"  he  said,  "  exactly  the  point  on 
which  you  are  in  doubt." 

She  told  him  briefly,  but  with  great  clearness ;  and 
he  listened  attentively  to  all  that  she  had  to  say  before 
uttering  a  word.  Then  when  she  paused  he  replied, 
with  the  air  of  one  who  is  accustomed  to  give  prompt 
decisions :  — 

'•From  what  you  tell  me  I  think  there  can  be  no 
question  but  that  you  are  clearly  entitled  to  retain  a 


FAIEY   GOLD.  263 

part  of  tlie  fortune.  Since  it  was  the  desire  of  the 
testator  that,  under  the  circumstances  of  the  supposed 
death  of  his  son,  you  should  have  all  of  it,  we  must 
believe  that  even  had  he  known  his  son  to  be  living  he 
would  not  have  failed  to  leave  you  a  legacy,  it  wou'd 
be  entirely  just  and  right,  therefore,  that  you  should 
retain  a  part,  while  it  is  also  light  that  you  sh  juld 
resiffu  the  balk  of  the  estate  to  its  natural  heir." 

Helen  directed  a  triumphant  glance  toward  Marion, 
which  said,  "You  see  how  entirely  Father  Byrne 
is  of  my  opinion!  "  but  Marion  did  not  perceive  it. 
She  was  looking  down  with  rather  a  disappointed  air. 

"  I  should  prefer  to  give  it  all  up,"  she  said  —  "  to 
keep  nothing." 

Father  Byrne  spread  out  his  hands  with  a  gesture 
very  familiar  to  those  who  knew  him  well.  "•  There  is 
nothing  to  prevent  that,"  he  observed.  "It  would 
not  be  wrong ;  but,  if  you  will  permit  me  to  say  so,  it 
would  be  fcjolish.  Why  should  you  wish  to  defeat 
entirely  the  kind  intentions  of  the  dead  man  in  your 
behalf?" 

"I  can  hardly  explain,"  she  answered,  "without 
going  into  personal  details,  which  would  not  interest 
you.  About  the  manner  in  which  I  rectived  this 
money,  my  conscience  is  clear  enough ;  for  I  did 
nothing  to  induce  Mr.  Singleton  to  make  such  a  will, 
and  no  one  was  more  surprised  by  it  than  1.  But  — 
before  that  —  "  she  hesitated,  paused,  then  with  an 
effort  went  on:  "Everything  might  have  been  differ- 
ent if  I  had  acted  differently  at  an  earlier  period.  I 
made  a  very  deliberate  and  mercenary  choice  then. 
It  led  to  this  disposition  of  Mr.  Singleton's  fortune ; 
and  now  I  feel  that  there  is  retribution,  punishment, 


264  FAIRY    GOLD. 

whatever  you  like  to  call  it,  in  the  circumstances  that 
are  taking  it  away  from  me.  That  raake3  me  reluctant 
to  keep  any  of  it.  I  should  feel  as  if  I  were  still  being 
paid  for  —  what  I  lost.  I  express  mysslf  obscurel}', 
but  I  hope  that  you  understand  me." 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  "  I  think  that  I  do.  You  feel 
as  if  this  fortune  had  been  bought  at  a  certain  price, 
and  therefore  it  has  lost  value  in  j^our  ej^es.  That  is 
purely  a  matter  of  feeling,  with  which  the  abstract 
question  involved  has  nothing  to  do  —  unless  there  is 
some  point  on  which  your  conscience  accuses  you  of 
wrono;-doinor. ' ' 

She  shook  her  head.  "  There  is  none  directly 
touching  the  mone3\  But,  indirectly,  the  money  was 
the  root  of  everything  —  of  a  choice  which  has  brought 
me  no  happiness." 

"  And  3'ou  think,  perhaps,  that  by  resigning  it  j'ou 
may  recover  what  you  have  lost?  " 

She  colored  vividly.  "No,"  she  said  quickly, 
almost  indignantly.  "  I  have  no  thought  of  the 
kind.  That  choice  is  made  irrevocably.  I  can 
recover   nothing  but  my  own  self-respect." 

Father  Byrne  looked  a  little  puzzled.  "  I  fail  to 
see,"  he  said,  "  how  your  self-respect  has  been  lost  by 
having  a  fortune  left  you  which  you  declare  you  did 
nothing  to  secure.  But  that  is  a  question  for  j'ourself 
alone,  since  it  is  evidently  a  matter  of  feeling.  The 
moral  point  I  have  answered  to  the  best  of  m}'  abilit^^" 

"You  think  that  1  ought  to  retain  part  of  this 
fortune?" 

"I  cannot  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  you  ought. 
There  is  no  moral  obligation  binding  you  to  do  so,  as 
far  as  I  am  aware  of  the  circmmstances.     I  can  only 


FAIIiY    GOLD.  265 

say  that  it  is  clearlj'  right  for  ^-ou  to  do  so  —  if  you 
think  fit." 

Evidently  after  this  there  was  no  more  to  lie  said  ; 
and  Marion  rose  to  take  leave,  sa3ing  a  few  words  of 
sincere  thanks  for  the  kindness  with  which  he  had 
received  her.  "  It  has  been  very  good  of  you  to  advise 
me,"  she  said,  gratefully.     "  I  shall  never  forget  it." 

"  I  only  hope  that  the  advice  may  be  of  some  use 
to  you,"  answered  Father  "Byrne.  "But  it  will  be 
better  if  you  ask  God  to  guide  and  direct  you." 

"Well,  are  j'ou  satisfied?"  asked  Helen,  when 
they  found  themselves  outside.  "  Have  you  decided 
what  to  do.?" 

"  Not  yet,"  said  Marion.  "  I  have  only  been  told 
what  I  may  do,  and  I  must  take  a  little  time  to  decide 
whether  or  not  I  will  do  it." 

' '  Then  you  have  really  gained  nothing  b)'  going  to 
Father  Byrne,"  Helen  continued,  in  a  disappointed 
tone. 

"  Oh,  3^es!  I  have  gained  a  great  deal,"  the  other 
said  quickly.  "  I  seem  to  feel  mj'self  standing  on  firm 
ground  —  to  know  just  what  I  ought  to  do  and  what  I 
ought  not,  what  is  permitted  and  what  is  not.  The 
question  still  remains,  however,  whether  or  not  to  do 
what  is  permitted." 

"  I  can't  see  that  you  have  gained  much,"  replied 
Helen,  with  a  sigh. 

But  Marion  felt  that  she  had  gained  much  when  she 
faced  the  question  alone,  as  all  important  questions 
must  at  last  be  faced.  She  had  been  assured  that 
there  was  no  reason  why  she  should  not  retain  a  part 
of  the  monc}'  which  had  come  into  her  possession ; 
and  she  said  to  herself  that  even  Brian  Earle  —  indeed 


26G  FAIEY   GOLD. 

Brian  Earle  of  all  men  —  would  recognize  the  authority 
of  the  voice  which  had  so  assured  her.  She  need  not 
hold  herself  grasping  and  mercenary  if  she  did  this  — 
if  she  kept  a  little  of  the  fortune  that  its  possessor 
had  given  to  her  in  its  entirety.  So  much,  therefore, 
was  clear.  But  there  could  be  no  doubt  that  she 
would  prefer  to  give  it  all  up  — to  close  forever  the 
passage  in  her  life  which  had  been  so  bitter,  and  in  the 
end  so  humiliating ;  to  disprove  by  a  magnificent  act 
of  generosity  all  the  charges  of  scheming  which  she 
felt  sure  had  been  made  against  her,  and  to  know  that 
Brian  Earle  would  learn  that  none  of  his  uncle's  money 
remained  in  her  hands. 

But  if  she  gratified  herself  in  this  manner  what  was 
before  her?  Not  only  the  old  dependence,  but  a 
dependence  which  would  be  doubly  embittered  by  the 
resentment  with  which  her  relatives  were  sure  to  reo^ard 
the  step  which  she  thought  of  taking.  "  ]My  uncle 
will  never  forgive  me,"  she  thought.  "  He  will  say 
that  I  had  no  right  to  throw  away  the  means  to  help 
m^-self,  and  fall  back  on  his  already  overburdened 
hands.  That  is  true.  It  will  be  bitter  as  death  to  do 
so.  And  3'et  how  can  I  keep  this  money?  Oh,  if  I 
only  ha^l  been  spared  the  necessity  of  such  a  choice ! 
If  it  was  wrong  to  desire  wealth  so  much,  surely  I  am 
punished  for  it,  since  what  it  has  brought  on  me  is 
worse  than  the  poverty  from  which  I  have  escaped. 
That,  at  least,  was  simple  ;  I  had  only  to  endure  it. 
But  this  is  fraught  with  serious  consequences,  that  go 
beyond  myself  and  touch  other  people.  What  shall  I 
do  —  ah !  what  shall  I  do  ?  " 

She  was  walking  up  and  down  her  chamber,  all  alone 
in  the  silence  of  the  night.     Suddenly,  as  she  wrung 


FAIBY    GOLD.  267 

her  hands  with  the  silent  force  of  her  inward  appeal, 
Father  Bj-rne's  last  woi'ds  recurred  to  her  memory: 
"  It  will  be  better  if  you  ask  God  to  guide  aud  direct 
you."  She  stopped  short.  Was  there  any  hope 
that  God  would  really  do  this  if  she  ventured  to  ask 
Him  ?  It  proved  how  much  of  an  unconscious  pagan 
she  was  that  such  a  question  should  have  occurred  to 
her.  But  the  imperative  need  at  this  moment  for  some 
guidance,  stronger  even  than  that  to  which  she  liad 
already  appealed,  seemed  to  answer  the  question.  She 
sank  on  her  knees  and  lifted  her  heart  to  Him  who 
hears  all  petitions,  begging,  simply,  earnestly,  like  a 
child,  to  be  directed  into  the  course  right  and  best  to 
pursue. 

The  next  morning  Marion's  companion  —  a  quiet, 
elderly  widow  —  noticed  that  she  was  more  than 
usually  restless  ;  that  she  settled  to  no  occupation, 
but  wandered  from  the  house  to  the  garden  and  back 
again  ;  from  room  to  room  and  window  to  window,  as 
if  in  expectation  of  some  event.  Mrs.  "Winter  was 
not  a  person  easily  "  fidgeted :  "  she  bore  this  for  some 
time  without  remark,  but  at  length  she  was  driven  to 
say,  "•  You  are  looking  for  some  one  this  morning?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  Marion,  promptly.  "  I  am  looking 
for  two  people,  and  I  have  very  important  business  to 
settle  when  they  come.  That  makes  me  a  little  rest- 
less. I  wish  it  were  over."  Then  she  laughed  a 
little.  "  It  is  not  every  day,  however,  that  one  has  a 
chance  to  see  a  dead  man,"  she  said.  ''  That  should 
prove  interesting." 

Mrs.  Winter  looked  startled.  "  A  dead  man!  "  she 
repeated.     ' '  How  —  what  do  3'ou  mean  ?  ' ' 

I  mean,"  replied   Marion,  calmly,   "that  it  is  a 


i( 


'jG5  faiby  gold. 

case  of  the  dead  alive.  You  have  not  heard,  then? 
If  you  went  out  into  Scarborough,  I  fancy  you  would 
hear  very  quickl3\  Mr.  Singleton's  son,  who  was 
supposed  to  be  dead,  has  proved  to  be  very  much 
alive,  and  I  am  expecting  a  visit  from  him  to-day," 

"  My  dear  Miss  Lynde!  "  —  the  good  woman  fairly 
gasped —  "what  a  piece  of  news!  And  how  quietly 
you  take  it!  Mr.  Singleton's  son  alive!  Good 
Heavens!  lu  that  case,  who  will  have  the  prop- 
erty?" 

"  That  is  what  we  are  going  to  settle,"  said  Marion. 
"  It  strikes  me  that  a  son  should  inherit  his  father's 
estate  ;  do  you  not  think  so?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  Mrs.  Winter,  more  than 
ever  confounded  by  this  cool  inquiry.  "  Usually  — 
oh!  yes,  I  suppose  so,"  she  added  after  a  minute. 
"  But  in  this  case  — the  young  man  was  so  wild  that 
his  father  cast  him  off,  did  he  not?  " 

"  I  never  heard  the  story  clearly  from  any  one  who 
had  authority  to  tell  it,"  answered  Marion.  "I  do 
not  kufjw  what  occurred  between  father  and  son,  but 
I  am  quite  sure  that  Mr.  Singleton  beheved  his  son  to 
be  dead  when  he  made  the  will  in  which  he  left  me  his 
fortune." 

"  Then,  my  dear,  if  I  may  ask,  what  do  you  mean 
to  do?" 

"What  is  right  and  honest,"  said  Marion,  with 
a  faint  smile.  "Wish  me  courage,  for  there  is  the 
door-bell!  " 


I 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

THE  first  thing  of  which  Marion  was  conscious 
when  she  entered  the  drawing-room  was  that 
a  pair  of  bold,  bright  and  keen  dark  e\'es 
"were  instantly  fastened  on  her.  The  owner  of  these 
eyes  was  a  tall  and  ver}^  striking-looking  man,  w^hose 
origiaall}'-  brunette  skin  was  so  deeply  bronzed  by 
exposure  to  a  tropical  sun  that  he  scarcely  had  the 
appearance  of  a  white  man  at  all ;  but  whose  clear-cut 
features  at  once  recalled  those  of  old  Mr.  Singleton, 
whose  whole  aspect  was  so  unusual  and  so  remarkably 
handsome  that  it  would  have  been  impossible  for  him 
either  to  personate  or  be  mistaken  for  any  one  else. 
Marion  recognized  this  even  while  Mr.  Tom  Singleton 
was  in  the  act  of  stepping  forward  to  take  her  hand, 
and  said  to  herself  that  no  one  who  had  ever  seen  this 
man  once  could  doubt  whether  or  not  he  was  the  per- 
son he  assumed  to  be. 

"  IIow  do  you  do  this  morning.  Miss  Lvnde?  "  said 
Mr.  Singleton,  wlio  tried  to  conceal  a  certain  awkward- 
ness under  more  than  his  usual  geniality  of  manner. 
"I  hope  we  have  not  disturbed  you  too  early,  but  I 
had  your  permission  to  present  m}'  cousin,  Mr.  George 
Singleton. 

"Not    my    permission    onh',    but    my    request," 

(2G9) 


270  FAIEY    OOLD. 

ol)served  Marion,  looking  at  1he  tall,  handsome 
stranger,  who  bowed.  "lam  very  glad  to  see  Mr. 
George  Singleton  —  at  last." 

"You  are  very  good  to  say  so,"  replied  that  gen- 
tleman, easily.  "  I  assure  you  that,  so  far  from 
expecting  you  to  be  glad  to  see  me,  I  feel  as  apolo- 
getic as  possible  about  my  existence.  Pray  believe. 
Miss  Lynde,  that  I  mean  to  give  you  as  little  trouble 
as  possible.  I  have  no  doubt  we  can  soon  arrive  at 
an  amicable  arrangement." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it,"  said  Marion,  calmly. 
"  But  you  will  allow  me  to  say  how  sorry  I  am  ihat 
any  arrangement  should  be  necessary, —  that  your 
father  was  not  aware  of  your  existence  when  he  made 
his  will." 

Mr.  George  Singleton  shrugged  his  shoulders.  '■  I 
am  by  no  means  certain  that  my  father  believed  me  to 
be  dead,"  he  answered.  "  At  least  he  had  no  special 
reason  for  such  a  belief.  He  had  indeed  not  heard 
from  or  of  me  in  a  long  time,  because  that  was  thor- 
oughly settled  when  we  parted.  I  threw  off  his  con- 
trol, and  he  washed  his  hands  of  me.  But  I  hardly 
thought  he  would  ignore  me  completely  in  his  will. 
No  doubt  he  had  a  right  to  do  so,  for  I  had  ignored 
every  duty  of  a  son ;  but  he  should  have  remembered 
that  he  also  had  something  to  answer  for  in  our 
estrangement.  However,  that  is  neither  liere  nor 
thei'e.  What  I  mean  to  say  is  that  the  consciousm  ss 
of  my  sliortcomings  will  make  me  easy  to  deal  with  ; 
for  I  feel  that  m}'  father  was  in  great  measure  justified 
when  he  selected  another  heir." 

This  cool,  careless  frankness  was  so  ufiexpected 
that   for    a    moment   Marion   could   only  look  at   the 


FAIEY    GOLD.  271 

speaker  with  a  sense  of  surprise.  He  was  so  totally 
unlike  what  she  had  imagined !  His  bold,  bright  glance 
met  hei's,  and,  as  if  divining  her  thoughts,  he  smiled. 

"Don't  expect  me  to  be  like  other  people.  Miss 
Lynde,"  he  continued.  "  Tom  here  will  tell  you  that 
I  never  was.  Even  as  a  boy  I  was  alwaj  s  a  law  unto 
myself —  a  wild  creature  whom  nothing  could  tame  or 
restrain.  Perhaps  it  is  because  I  am  still  something 
of  a  wild  man  that  I  see  no  reason  why  we  should  not 
discuss  and  settle  this  business  between  us  in  a  friendly 
manner.  I  have  only  the  most  friendly  sentiments  for 
you,  being  aware  that  my  coming  to  life  is  rather  hard 
lines  for  you." 

Marion  could  not  but  respond  to  his  smile  and  what  . 
seemed    to   be   the   genuine  though  somewhat  blunt 
friendliness  of  his  manner.     Yet  when  she  spoke  her 
tone  was  slightly  haughty. 

"  Pray  do  not  thiiik  of  me,"  she  said.      "  The  fact  . 
that  your  father  left  his  fortune  to  me  was  the  great- 
est surprise  of  my  life, —  a  surprise  from  which  I  have 
hardly  yet  recovered.     Naturally,  therefore,  it  will  be 
no  great  hardship  to  give  it  up." 

"  But  I  don't  ask  you  to  give  it  up,"  replied  the 
tall,  dark  man,  hastil}'.  "  There  is  enough  to  divide, 
and  I  assure  you  I  am  not  a  grasping  fellow.  Ask 
Tom  if  I  am." 

Mr.  Tom  Singleton  smiled.  "If  so,"  he  observed, 
"  you  must  have  changed  very  much." 

"I  haven't  changed  a  particle.  1  did  not  give  a 
thought  to  my  father's  fortune  when  I  left  him:  I 
was  thinking  only  of  freedom,  of  escape  from  irksome 
control.  And  I  hardl}'^  gave  it  a  thought  during  the 
years  that  I  have  been. out  yonder,  thoroughly  satis-  • 


272  FAIIiY   GOLD. 

fiecl  with  my  own  mode  of  life.  I  should  not  be  here 
now  but  for  the  fact  that  a  lawyeV  —  what  is  his 
name?  —  took  the  trouble  to  write  and  inform  me 
that  my  father  was  dead  and  I  disinherited.  Nat- 
urally one  does  not  like  to  be  ignored  in  that  way ; 
so  I  replied,  directing  him  to  contest  the  will.  But 
since  I  have  come,  heard  the  circumstancrs  of  the 
case,  and  —  and  seen  you,  Miss  Lynde,  T  perceive  no 
reason  for  any  such  contest.  We'll  settle  ihe  matter 
more  simply,  if  ^  ou  say  so." 

"Seen  you  J.Iiss  Lynde!"  It  sounded  simple 
enough,  but  the  eyes  of  this  wild  man,  as  he  called 
himself,  emphasized  the  statement  so  that  Marion 
could  not  doubt  that  her  beaut3'  might  again  secure 
for  her  an  easy  victory  —  if  she  cared  frr  it.  But  she 
did  not  suffer  this  consciousness  to  appear  in  her 
manner  or  her  voice  as  she  re|)lied :  — 

"  \Ve  can  settle  it  very  sim[)lv,  Illiink.  Shall  we  now 
put  aside  the  pi'eliminaries  and  proceed  1o  bu-iness?  " 

"  Immediately^,  if  you  desire,"  answered  Mr.  Sin- 
gleton. He  bent  forward  sHgiitly,  pulling  his  long, 
dark  moustache  with  a  muscular,  sunburned  hand, 
while  his  brilliant  gaze  never  wavered  from  Marion's 
face.  His  cousin  also  looked  at  her,  apj)rehensively 
as  it  seemed,  and  gave  a  nervous  cough.  She  met 
li's  e3'e3  for  an  instant  and  smiled  gravely,  then  turned 
her  glance  back  to  the  other  man. 

"  I  am  very  sure,  Mr.  Singleton,"  she  said,  "  that 
your  father  must  have  left  his  fortune  to  me  under  a 
wrong  impression  of  your  death.  If  this  were  not  so 
he  certainly  h  ft  it  under  a  false  impression  of  my 
character.  To  retain  nionev  of  which  the  rightful 
heir  is  living,  is  something  of  which  I  could  never  be 


FAIRY    GOLD.  2/3 

guilt}'  if  evei\v  court  of  law  in  the  laud  declared  that 
the  will  should  stand.  Your  father's  fortune,  then,  is 
3'ours,  and  I  will  immediately  take  steps  to  resign  all 
claim  of  mine  upon  it." 

"But  I  have  not  asked  you  to  resign  more  than 
a  portion  of  it,"  answered  Singleton,  impetuously. 
"It  is  right  enough  that  3'ou  should  have  half,  since 
my  father  gave  you  the  whole." 

"You  are  very  generous,"  she  said,  with  a  proud 
gentleness  of  tone:  "  l)ut  it  is  quite  impossible  for 
me  to  keep  the  half  of  your  fortune.  Your  father 
would  never  have  left  it  to  me  but  for  circumstances 
which  need  not  be  entered  into  — he  wished  to  punish 
some  one  else.  But  he  could  never  have  wished  to 
disinherit  his  son.  I  am  certain  of  that.  He  liked 
me,  however  —  I  think  I  may  say  as  much  as  that ; 
he  was  very  kind  to  me,  and  I  believe  that  even  if  he 
had  known  of  your  existence  he  might  have  remem- 
bered me  with  a  legacy  ;  do  you  not  think  ^o"^  "  She 
turned,  as  she  uttered  the  last  words,  to  Mr.  Tom 
Singleton. 

"  I  am  sure  of  it,"  replied  that  gentleman. 

"  Believing  this,  I  am  willing  to  take  what  he  would 
have  been  likely  to  give.  It  is  rather  difficult,  of 
course,  to  conjecture  what  the  exact  amount  would 
have  been,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  he  would  probably 
have  left  me  about  ten  thousand  dollars." 

Both  men  uttered  a  sharp  exclamation.  "  Absurd  ! 
You  must  certainly  take  more  than  that,"  said  George 
Singleton. 

"  Eemember  that  you  are  giving  up  half  a  million," 
remarked  his  cousin. 

But  Marion  shook  her  head.      "  It  is  with  extreme 

18 


274  FAIRY    GOLD. 

reluctance,"  she  said,  "  that  I  have  decided  to  take 
anvthinff.  Mr.  Sinaleton  is  aware  that  my  intention 
yesterday  was  to  keep  nothing,  bnt  1  have  been  ad- 
vised to  the  contrary  by  one  whose  opinion  I  respect ; 
and  so  I  have  determined  to  take  what  I  think  your 
father,  under  ordinary  circumstances,  might  have 
given  one  with  no  claim  upon  him,  but  in  whom  he  had 
taken  an  interest." 

"  But  why  should  you  fix  upon  such  a  paltry  sum  ?  " 
demanded  George  Singleton.  "  There  was  nothing 
niggardly  about  my  father.  He  was  cold  and  hard  as 
an  icicle,  but  he  alwaj's  gave  like  a  prince." 

"  That  would  have  been  a  very  generous  bequest  to 
one  who  had  touched  his  life  as  slight!}'  as  I  had," 
remarked  Marion,  "  and  who  had  no  claim  upon  him 
whatever  — ' ' 

"  He  calls  you  his  adopted  daughter  in  his  will." 

"  He  was  very  good  to  me,"  she  replied,  simply, 
while  tears  came  to  her  eyes.  '•  But  I  think  he  only 
said  that  to  make  such  a  disposition  of  his  fortune 
seem  more  reasonable.  Your  cousin  here  has  perhaps 
told  you,  or  at  least  he  can  tell  you,  all  the  circum- 
stances —  how  3'our  father  was  disappointed  in  some 
one  else  on  whom  he  had  set  his  heart." 

"  Brian  Earle,"  said  George  Singleton,  carelessly. 
"Yes,  I  know." 

"  Well,  he  thought  that  I  had  been  disappointed 
too  ;  and  so  —  partly  from  a  generous  impulse  to  atone 
for  the  disappointment,  and  partly  from  a  desire  to 
punish  one  who  had  greatly  angered  him  —  he  made 
me  his  heir.  But  it  was  all  an  accident,  a  caprice,  if 
I  may  say  so ;  and  if  he  had  lived  longer  he  would 
have  undone  it,  no  doubt." 


FAIBY   GOLD.  ■  275 


(C 


You  did  not  know  my  father  if  you  think  so," 
said  the  son,  quietl}'.  "  lie  had  caprices  perhaps,  but 
they  hardened  into  resolutions  that  never  changed. 
Who  should  know  that  better  than  I?  No,  no.  Miss 
Lyndo,  this  will  never  do!  I  can  not  take  a  fortune 
from  your  hands  without  litigation  or  any  difficulty 
whatever,  and  leave  you  only  a  pallry  ten  thousand 
dollars.     It  is  simply  impossible." 

"It  is  altogether  impossible  that  I  can  retain  any 
more,"  answered  Marion.  "  As  I  have  already  said, 
I  would  prefer  to  retain  none  at  all ;  and  if  I  consent 
to  keep  anything,  it  can  only  be  such  a  moderate 
legacy  as  might  have  been  left  me." 

"As  would  never  have  been  left  3'ou!  My  father 
was  not  a  man  to  do  things  in  that  manner.  What 
was  your  legacy,  Tom  ?  ' ' 

"P'ifty  thousand  dollars,"  replied  Mr. Tom  Singleton. 

"  Something  like  that  I  might  agree  to.  Miss  Lynde, 
if  you  will  insist  on  the  legacy  view  of  the  matter ;  but 
I  should  much  ju'efer  to  simply  divide  the  fortune." 

"  You  are  certainly  your  father's  son  in  generosity, 
Mr.  Singleton,"  said  Marion.  "  But  believe  me  you 
are  wasting  words.  My  resolution  is  finally  taken.  I 
shall  make  over  your  fortune  to  you,  retaining  only 
ten  thousand  dollars  for  mj'self .     That  is  settled." 

It  was  natural,  however,  that  neither  of  the  two 
men  would  accept  this  settlement  of  the  case.  Both 
declared  it  was  manifestly  unjust,  and  each  exhausted 
his  powers  of  argument  and  pei'suasion  in  trying  to 
move  Marion.  It  was  a  singular  battle ;  a  singular 
turn  in  an  altogether  singular  affair  ; —  and  when  at  last 
they  were  forced  to  go  without  having  altered  her 
resolution,  they  looked  at  each  other  with  a  sense  of 


276  FAIliY    GOLD. 

baffled  defeat,  which  presently  made  George  Singleton 
burst  into  a  laugh. 

"By  Jove!  "  he  said,  "  this  is  a  reversal  of  the 
usual  order  of  things.  To  think  of  a  disinherited  man, 
instead  of  having  to  fight  for  his  rights,  being  forced  to 
beg  and  pray  that  his  supplanter  will  keep  a  fair  share 
of  the  inheritance !  What  makes  the  girl  so  obstinate? 
Has  she  money  besides?  " 

"  I  don't  believe  that  slie  has  a  sixpence,"  replied 
his  cousin. 

"  Then  what  on  earth,  in  the  name  of  all  that  is 
wonderful,  is  the  meaning  of  it?  She  does  not  look 
like  a  fool." 

Mr.  Singleton  laughed.  "  Miss  Lynde,"  he  said, 
•'  is  about  as  far  from  being  a  fool  as  it  is  possible  to 
imagine.  We  all  thought  her  at  first  ver}'  shrewd  and 
scheming,  and  there  is  no  doubt  but  that  she  might  have 
wound  your  father  round  her  finger  without  any  trouble 
at  all.  She  is  just  the  kind  of  a  person  he  liked  best : 
beautiful,  clever —  7ie  never  fancied  fools,  you  know, — 
and  she  charmed  him, without  any  apparent  effort,  from 
the  first.  But  if  she  schemed  for  any  share  of  his 
fortune  it  was  in  a  very  subtle  way —  " 

"In  the  light  of  her  conduct  now,  I  don't  see  how 
it  is  possible  to  believe  that  she  ever  schemed  at  all," 
interposed  the  other. 

"  1  d07iH  believe  it,"  said  Tom  Singleton  ;  "  although 
the  fact  remains  that,  in  choosing  between  Brian  and 
his  uncle,  she  stood  by  the  latter." 

"There  might  have  been  other  than  mercenary 
considerations  for  that.  I  can't  imagine  that  this 
splendid  creature  ever  cared  about  marrying  Brian." 

Mr.  Singleton  did  not  commit  himself  to  an  opinion 


FAIET   GOLD.  277 

ou  that  point.  He  said,  diplomatically:  "  It  is  hard 
to  tell  what  a  womau  does  care  to  do  iu  such  a  case, 
and  Miss  Lynde  by  no  means  wears  her  heart  on  her 
s'eeve.  Well,  the  long  and  short  of  the  matter  was 
that  Brian  obstinately  went  away,  and  that  your  father 
made  this  girl  his  heir  —  for  the  very  reasons  she  has 
given,  I  have  no  doubt.  She  was  most  genuinely  aston- 
ished when  I  told  her  the  news,  and  my  belief  that 
she  had  ever  schemed  for  such  a  result  was  shaken 
then.  But  from  something  she  said  to  me  yesterday 
I  think  she  is  afraid  that  such  a  belief  lingers  in  peo- 
ple's minds,  and  she  is  determined  to  disprove  it  as 
completel}^  as  possible.  Hence  her  quixotic  conduct. 
I  can  explain  it  in  no  other  way." 

"  She  is  a  queer  girl,"  observed  George  Singlef^on, 
meditatively  ;  "  and  so  handsome  that  I  don't  wonder 
she  knocked  .over  my  father  — who  was  always  a  wor- 
shiper of  beauty, —  and  even  that  solemn  prig,  Mr. 
Brian  Earle,  without  loss  of  time." 

"  She  knocked  over  another  man  herein  Scarbor- 
ough, who  has  a  hand  in  her  affairs  at  present,"  said 
Mr.  Singleton,  signiQcantly.  "  Did  it  ever  occur  to  3'ou 
to  wonder  why  that  fellow  Rathborne  should  have 
interested  himself  to  look  you  up  and  notify  you  of 
your  lost  inheritance?  " 

"  Why  should  I  wonder  over  an3^thing  so  simiile? 
Self-interest  prompted  him,  of  course.  If  there  had 
been  a  contest  over  the  will,  he  might  have  pocketed 
a  considerable  slice  of  the  fortune." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  that  influenced  him ;  but  his  chief 
reason  was  a  desire  to  do  Miss  Lynde  an  ill  turn,  and 
so  revenge  himself  for  her  having  trifled  with  his 
feelings." 


278  FAIBY   GOLD 

"  You  are  sure  of  this?  "  asked  George  Singleton, 
with  a  quick  look  out  of  his  dark,  flashing  eyes. 

"Perfectly  sure.  Everyone  in  Scarliorough  knows 
the  circumstances.  He  considered  himself  very  badly 
used,  I  believe  —  chiefly  because  he  was  engaged  to 
Miss  Lynde's  cousin  ;  and  the  latter,  who  is  some- 
thing of  an  heiress,  broke  the  engagement.  He  fell 
between  two  stools,  and  has  never  forgiven  her  who 
was  the  cause  of  the  fall." 

"The  wretched  cad!"  said  George  Singleton, 
emphatically.  "As  if  anything  that  a  woman  could 
do  to  a  man  would  justify  him  iu  such  cowardly 
retaliation!  I  am  glad  you  told  me  this.  I  will  end 
my  association  with  him  as  soon  as  may  be,  and  let 
him  know  at  the  same  time  my  opinion  of  him  —  and 
of  Miss  Lynde." 

"Do  be  cautious,  George.  I  shall  be.  sorry  I  told 
you  the  storj'  if  you  go  out  of  your  way  to  insult  the 
man  in  consequence.     No  doubt  he  ivas  badly  used." 

The  other  laughed  scornfully.  "  As  if  that  would 
excuse  him!  But  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it.  That 
ffirl  is  too  proud  ever  to  have  taken  the  trouble  to  use 
him  badly.  But  a  man  might  lose  his  head  just  by 
looking  at  her.     What  a  beauty  she  is !  " 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

AND  now  the  question  is  —  what  am  I  to  do?" 
It  was  Marion  who  asked  herself  tliis,  after 
the  departure  of  the  law3'er,  who,  with  some 
remonstrance,  had  taken  her  instructions  for  drawing 
up  the  necessary  papers  to  transfer  to  George  Singleton 
his  father's  fortune.  It  was  not  with  regard  to  the  act 
itself  that  the  lawyer  remonstrated  —  that  he  thought 
just  and  wise  enough, —  but  with  regard  to  the  sum 
which  the  heiress  of  the  whole  announced  her  intention 
of  retaining. 

"You  might  just  as  well  keep  fifty  or  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars,"  he  declared.  "  Mr.  Singleton  is 
willing  to  relinquish  even  so  much  as  half  of  the  fort- 
une ;  and  it  is  absolute  folly  —  if  you  will  excuse  me  — 
for  you  to  throw  away  a  comfortable  independence, 
and  retain  only  a  sum  which  is  paltry  in  comparison 
to  the  amount  of  the  fortune,  and  to  your  needs  of 
life." 

"You  must  allow  me  to  be  the  best  judge  of  that," 
Blarion  replied,  firmly. 

And,  as  she  held  inflexibly  to  her  resolution,  the  lawyer 
finally  went  awaj^  with  the  same  baffled  feeling  that  the 
Singleton  cousins  had  experienced.  "  What  fools 
women  are  when  it  comes  to  the  practical  concerns  of 
life!  "  he  said,  from  the  depths  of  his  masculine  scorn. 

(279) 


280  FAIEY   GOLD. 

"  They  are  always  in  one  extreme  or  the  other.  Here 
is  this  girl,  who,  from  what  I  hear,  must  have  been 
-willing  to  do  anything  to  secure  the  fortune,  now 
throws   it  away  for  a  whim  without  reason  !  " 

Meanwhile  Marion,  left  face  to  face,  as  it  were,  with 
her  accomplished  resolve,  said  to  herself,  "  What  am 
I  to  do  now?  " 

It  was  certainly  a  necessary  question.  To  remain 
where  she  was,  living  with  the  state  of  Mr.  Singleton's 
heiress,  was  impossible  ;  to  go  to  her  uncle,  who  would 
be  incensed  against  her  on  account  of  the  step  she  had 
taken,  was  equally  impossible ;  to  stay  with  Helen, 
however  much  Helen  in  her  kindness  might  desire  it, 
was  out  of  the  question.  Where,  then,  could  she 
20?  —  where  should  she  turn  to  find  a  friend? 

Marion  was  pacing  up  and  down  the  long  drawing- 
room  as  she  revolved  these  thoughts  in  her  mind,  when 
her  attention  was  attracted  by  her  own  reflection  in  a 
mirror  which  hung  at  the  end  of  the  apartment.  She 
paused  and  stood  looking  at  it,  while  a  faint,  bitter 
smile  gathered  on  her  lip.  Her  beauty  was  as  striking, 
as  indisputable  as  ever ;  but  what  had  it  gained  for 
her  —  this  talisman  by  which  she  had  confidently 
hoped  to  win  from  the  world  all  that  she  desired? 
"  I  have  been  a  fool!  "  she  said,  with  sudden  humilit3^ 
"  And  now  —  what  remains  to  me  now?  " 

It  almost  seemed  as  if  it  was  in  answer  to  the  ques- 
tion that  a  servant  at  this  moment  entered,  bringing 
the  morning  mail.  Marion  turned  over  carelessl^'^  two 
or  three  papers  and  letters,  and  then  suddenly  felt  a 
thrill  of  pleasure  when  she  saw  a  foreign  stamp  and 
Claire's  famihar  handwriting.  She  threw  herself  into 
a  chair  and  opened  the  letter. 


FAIBT   GOLD.  281 

*It  was  dated  from  Rome.  "  I  am  at  last  in  the  city 
of  my  dreams  and  of  my  heart,"  wrote  Claire; 
"pleasantly  settled  in  an  apartment  with  my  kind 
friend  Mrs.  Kerr,  who  knows  Rome  so  well  that  she 
proves  invaluable  as  a  cicerone.  Alread}'  I,  too,  feel 
familiar  with  this  wonderful,  this  Eternal  City;  and  its 
spell  grows  upon  me  daj'  by  day.  Now  that  you  have 
gained  your  fairy  fortune,  dear  Marion,  whj"-  should 
3'ou  not  come  and  join  me  here .''  I  have  thought  of  it 
so  mucli  of  late  that  it  seems  to  me  like  an  inspiration, 
and  I  can  perceive  no  possible  reason  why  you  should 
not  come.  Pray  do.  It  would  make  me  so  happy  to 
see  3"ou,  and  I  am  sure  you  would  enjoj?^  man}^  things 
which  form  part  of  our  life  here.  Having  lived  abroad 
many  years  with  her  husband  (who  was  an  artist), 
Mrs.  Kerr  has  a  large  cosmopolitan  acquaintance,  and 
her  salon  is  constantly  filled  with  pleasant  and  inter- 
esting people.  Come,— Max'ion,  come!  I  find  every 
reason  why  you  should,  and  none  why  you  should  not. 
Have  I  not  heard  you  say  a  thousand  times  that  3'ou 
wanted  to  see  this  world,  and  do  not  I  want  to  see  you 
and  hear  all  about  the  magical  change  that  so  short  a 
time  has  made  in  j'our  fortunes?  Write,  then,  and 
tell  me  that  3'ou  will  come.  Helen  has  had  you  for 
months,  and  it  is  m3'  turn  now." 

"  Ah,  how  little  she  knows!  "  Marion  thought  with 
a  pang  as  she  read  the  last  words.  The  letter  dropped 
from  her  hand  into  her  lap ;  she  felt  as  if  she  hardly 
cared  to  read  further.  Would  Claire  desire  to  see  her 
if  she  knew  the  story  of  all  that  had  happened  since 
they  parted?  There  was  no  one  else  in  the  world  from 
whose  judgment  Marion  shrank  so  much,  and  3'et  this 
summons  seemed  to  her  more  of  a  command  than  an 


282  FAUiY   GOLD. 

invitation.  It  came  as  an  answer  to  her  doubts  and 
indecision.  "  "What  shall  I  do?  —  where  shall  I  go?  " 
she  bad  asked  herself.  "Come  to  me,"  Claire  answered 
from  across  the  sea  ;  and  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  had 
no  alternative  hut  to  obe}^  —  to  go,  even  though  it  were 
to  meet  Claire's  condemnation. 

That  condemnation  would  be  gentle,  she  knew, 
though  perhaps  unsparing.  Helen's  affection  had 
indeed  returned  to  her  in  a  degree  she  cr)uld  never  have 
expected  ;  but  it  is  impossible  that  the  stronger  nature 
can  de[)end  upon  t!ie  weaker,  and  she  knew  it  was  for 
Claire's  unswerving  standaids  and  Cl.-dre's  clear  judg- 
ments her  heart  most  strongly  yearned. 

So  the  way  opened  before  her,  and  when  she  saw 
Helen  next  she  announced  her  intention  of  going 
abroad  to  join  Claire.  "  It  seems  the  best—  in  fact, 
it  is  the  only  thing  I  cnn  do,'"  she  said.  "  And  Claire 
is  good  enough  to  want  me.  She  fancies  nie  still  in 
possession  of  what  she  calls  nn^  fairy  fortune  —  not 
knowing  how  fairy-like  indeed  it  has  proved, —  and 
writes  as  if  expense  would  lie  no  consideration  with  me. 
But  a  mode  of  life  which  is  not  too  ex[)ensive  fur  her 
surely  will  not  be  too  expensive  for  me  with  my  ten 
thousand  dollars.     So  I  shall  go. " 

"  I  snppose  it  is  best,"  said  Helen,  wistfully ;  "  and 
if  it  were  not  for  mamma  I  would  go  with  you." 

The  tone  was  a  revelation  to  Marion  of  all  that  the 
tender,  submissive  heart  was  suffering  still.  "  Why 
should  your  mother  object?"  she  jisked,  quickly. 
"Come,  Helen — come  with  me;  and  when  we  find 
Claire,  let  us  try  to  forget  everything,  but  the  pleasure 
of  being  together  again." 

"I  should  like  it,"  replied  Helen,  "  but  it  is  not 


FAinY    GOLD.  283 

possible.  I  know  how  long  mamma  has  looked  for- 
ward to  the  pleasure  of  having  me  with  her,  and  I  can 
not  go  away  now  for  my  own  selfish  satisfaction,  leav- 
ing her  alone.  Besides,  I  doubt  if  running  away  from 
painful  tilings  does  much  good.  It  is  better  to  face 
them  and  grow  resigned  to  them,  with  the  btlp  of 
God." 

"  I  am  sure  that  God  must  help  you,"  cried  Marion, 
"  else  you  could  never  learn  so  many  wise  and  hard 
things." 

Helen  looked  at  her  with  a  little  surprise  in  her  clear 
blue  eyes.  "Of  course  lie  helps  me,"  she  answered. 
"  When  does  He  not  help  those  who  ask  Him?  " 

"•  O  Helen!  if  I  only  had  your  faith!  "  exclaimed 
Marion,  with  positive  pain  in  her  voice.  "  How  easy 
it  would  make  things !  " 

"Yes,"  replied  Helen,  with  her  sweet  smile,  "it 
does  make  things  easy." 

But  before  Marion  could  complete  her  preparations 
for  departure,  she  was  obliged  to  see  Mr.  George  Sin- 
gleton again  and  yet  again.  He  came  in  the  first  place 
to  remonstrate  forcibly  against  her  intentions  with 
regard  to  the  fortune,  and  found  her  society  sufficiently 
attractive  to  induce  him  to  pay  inordinately  long  visits 
after  he  had  discovered  that  his  remonstrances  were 
vain,  "  He  is  certainly  very  unconventional,"  Marion 
observed  after  one  of  these  visits.  "  He  does  not 
strike  one  so  much  as  violating  social  usage,  as  being 
ignorant  of  and  holding  it  in  contempt.  In  essential 
things  he  is  a  gentleman  ;  but  that  his  father  —  one  of 
the  most  refined  and  fastidious  of  men  —  should  have 
had  a  son  who  is  half  a  savage,  strikes  me  as  very 
strange." 


284  FAIRY   GOLD. 

Young  Singleton  did  not  hesitate  to  speak  of  him- 
self as  altogether  a  savage,  and  to  declare  that  the 
strain  of  wild  lawlessness  in  his  nature  had  brought 
about  the  estrangement  between  his  father  and  him- 
self. "  Of  course  I  am  sorry  for  it  all  now,"  he  said 
frankl}^  to  IMarion  ;  "  but  I  don't  see  how  it  could  have 
been  avoided,  we  were  so  radically  different  in  dispo- 
sition and  tastes.  M3'  father  was  a  man  to  whom  the 
conventionalties  of  life  were  of  first  importance,  who 
held  social  laws  and  usages  as  more  binding  than 
the  Decalogue  ;  while  I  —  well,  a  gypsy  has  as  much 
regard  for  either  as  I  had.  I  irritated  and  outraged 
liirii  even  when  I  had  least  intention  of  doing  so ;  and 
he,  in  turn,  roused  all  the  spirit  of  opposition  in  me. 
I  do  not  defend  my  conduct,  but  I  think  I  mny  hon- 
estly say  that  he  had  something  for  which  to  blame 
himself.  We  were  miserable  together,  and  it  ended 
as  you  know.  He  said  when  we  parted  that  he  had  no 
longer  a  son,  and  I  took  him  at  his  word  —  perhaps 
too  hterally.  And  that  being  so,  Miss  Lynde  —  his 
renunciation  of  me  having  been  complete,  and  my 
acceptance  of  it  complete  also, —  I  really  do  not  think 
that  1  have  a  right  to  come  and  take  all  his  fortune  " 

"  I  am  sorry  if  30U  have  scruples  on  the  subject, 
Mr.  Singleton,"  Marion  answered,  quietly.  "  They 
ought  to  have  occurred  to  you  before  you  moved  in  the 
matter ;  now  they  are  too  late.  I  can  not  possibly 
accept  the  odium  of  holding  a  man's  fortune  when  his 
own  son  is  alive  and  has  claimed  it. ' 

"  But  you  know  that  I  have  always  said  I  should  be 
satisfied  with  part — " 

Marion  lifted  her  hand  with  a  silencing  gesture. 
"  I  know,"  she  said,  "  that  the  affair  is  finally  settled. 


FAIHY   GOLD.  285 

and  not  to  be  discussed  any  more.  I  am  satisfied,  and 
that  ought  to  satisfy  you.  Now  let  us  talk  of  some- 
thing else.     Are  you  aware  that  I  am  going  abroad.?  " 

"No,"  he  replied,  quickly,  with  a  startled  look. 
"  Where  are  j^ou  going?  " 

"  To  Rome.  I  have  a  friend  who  is  at  present  living 
there,  and  I  am  going  to  join  her." 

"But  why?" 

The  point  blank  question  was  so  much  in  character 
with  the  speaker  that  Marion  smiled. 

"  Why?  "  she  repeated.  "  Well,  I  have  nothing  to 
keep  me  in  this  country,  I  am  fond  of  my  friend,  and 
I  wish  to  see  the  world  —  are  not  those  reasons 
enough  ? ' ' 

"Perhaps  so,"  he  answered.  He  was  silent  for  a 
moment,  staring  at  her  with  his  large,  dark,  brilliant 
eyes  in  a  manner  which  tried  even  her  self-possession. 
Then  lie  asked,  abruptly:   "  Wheu  are  j-ou  going?" 

"As  soon  as  I  can  arrange  my  affairs.  That  sounds 
like  a  jest,  but  it  is  not :  I  really  have  some  affairs  to 
arrange.  They  will  not  occupy  me  very  long,  how- 
ever.    I  shall  probably  leave  in  a  week  or  ten  days." 

"Oh  —  I  thought  you  might  be  going  to-morrow!" 
said  Mr.  Singleton,  with  an  air  of  relief. 

After  that  he  was  a  daily  visitor, —  such  an  open, 
persistent,  long-staying  visitor,  that  all  Scarborough 
was  soon  on  tii>toe  of  expectation.  What  did  it 
mean?  What  would  be  the  end  of  this  sensational 
affair?  Would  the  legitimate  heir  of  the  fortune 
marry  the  girl  who  bad  given  it  up  without  a  contest? 
People  began  to  say  that  Miss  Lynde  had  been  shrewd, 
and  had  known  very  well  all  the  time  what  she  was 
about. 


^■-(>  FAIBY   GOLD. 

Miss  Lyncle,  on  her  part,  felt  as  if  she  would  never 
reach  the  end  of  the  difficulties  which  seemed  to  evolve 
out  of  one  another,  according  to  a  process  of  evolution 
with  which  we  are  all  familiar.  Had  her  passionate 
desire  for  wealth  created  a  sort  of  moral  Frankenstein, 
which  would  continue  to  pursue  her?  When,  after  a 
struggle  known  only  to  herself,  she  had  decided  to 
resign  the  fortune,  she  had  thought  that  she  cast  away 
all  perplexities  arising  out  of  it ;  but  now  it  appeared 
that  she  had  resigned  only  the  money,  and  that  the  diffi- 
culties and  perplexities  remained.  For,  as  clearly  as 
any  one  else,  she  perceived  —  what  indeed  George 
Singleton  made  no  effort  to  conceal  —  the  object  of  his 
constant  and  assiduous  attentions.  The  fortune  she 
had  given  up  was  to  be  offered  her  again:  she  would 
again  be  forced  to  make  a  difficult  choice. 

For  all  that  has  been  written  of  Marion  Lynde  has 
been  written  to  little  purpose  if  any  one  imagines  that 
wealth  had  lost  its  glamour  in  her  eyes,  or  that  her  old 
ambitions  were  dead  within  her.  They  had  been  for 
a  time  subdued, —  for  a  time  she  had  realized  that  one 
might  be  crushed  by  the  weight  of  a  granted  prayer ; 
but  the  old  desires  and  the  old  attraction  still  remained 
strong  enough  to  prove  a  potent  force  in  the  hour  of 
temptation. 

And  she  began  to  feel  that  it  might  be  a  temptation 
to  regain  in  the  most  entire  manner  the  fortune  she 
had  resigned  ;  to  cast  one  glance  of  triumphant  scora 
at  Eatbborne,  who  had  fancied  himself  scheming  for 
her  downfall;  to  receive  Mrs.  Singleton's  cousinly 
congratulations ;  and,  above  all,  to  prove  to  Briaa 
Earle  how  easily  she  could  console  herself  for  his 
desertion  —  how    readily     another    man   offered    the 


FAIEY   GOLD.  287 

horaaf^e  he  had  wilbdrawn.  Yes,  all  these  things 
were  temptations;  for  tlie  sway  of  the  world,  of 
naturtil  inclinations  and  passions,  was  still  strong  in 
this  soul,  which  had  leaned  toward  higher  thirgs 
without   embracing   them. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

MARION  did  not  in  the  least  relax  her  prepa- 
rations for  departure,  and  she  gave  no  sign 
to  Mr.  Singleton  of  perceiving  the  end  which 
he  had  in  view.  Thej^  progressed  very  far  toward 
intimacy  in  the  course  of  their  long  interviews ;  but 
it  was  an  intimacy  which  Marion  regulated,  and  to 
which  she  gave  its  tone,  preserving  without  difficulty 
command  of  the  situation.  Yet  even  while  she  com- 
manded it,  an  instinct  told  her  that  the  hour  would 
come  very  soon  when  this  man  would  assert  himself ; 
when  her  time  of  control  would  be  over,  and  the  feel- 
ing that  betrayed  itself  in  his  eyes  and  voice  would 
find  expression  in  a  manner  beyond  her  power  to  regu- 
late. Nevertheless,  she  was  hardly  prepared  for  the 
declaration  when  it  came  one  da}',  abruptly  and  with- 
out anticipation  on  her  part. 

"I  think,  Miss  Lynde,"  said  Singleton,  "  that  it  is 
time  you  and  I  understood  each  other — or,  at  least, 
that  I  understood  yon;  for  I  am  pretty  sure  that  you 
understand  me  thoroughly.  You  know  perfectly  well 
that  I  am  in  love  with  3'ou.  Do  you  intend  to  marry 
me?" 

"Mr.  Singleton!  "  exclaimed  Marion,  startled  and 
considerabh'  discomposed.  "Do  I  intend — "  she 
(288) 


FAIEY    GOLD.  289 

repeated.  "  How  could  I  possibl}^  have  any  intention 
in  —  in  such  a  matter?  That  is  a  very  extraordinary 
way  of  speaking." 

"  Is  it?  "  said  Singleton.  "  But  you  do  not  expect 
an  ordinary  way  of  spealcing  from  me ;  for  do  you  not 
make  me  understand  every  day  how  much  of  a  savage 
I  am?  What  can  I  do  except  ask  your  intentions? 
For  you  cannot  say  that  you  do  not  know  I  am  in  your 
hands  to  be  dealt  with  as  you  like." 

"  I  know  nothing  of  the  kind,"  she  answered, 
hastily.  "  Why  should  I  know  it?  I  have  been  glad 
that  we  should  be  friends,  but  beyond  that —  " 

"Do  not  talk  nonsense!  "  he  interr'upted,  somewhat 
roughly.  "  You  are  too  clever  a  woman  not  to  have 
been  aware  from  the  first  that  there  was  no  friendsliii) 
about  it.  As  soon  as  I  saw  you,  I  made  up  my  mind 
that  1  would  marry  you  if  you  would  agree  to  it.  And 
why  should  you  not  agree  ?  It  will  settle  all  difficulties 
about  the  fortune,  and  I  am  not  really  a  bad  fellow  at 
heart.     I  assure  you  of  that  " 

"  I  think  I  know  very  well  what  kind  of  fellow  you 
are,"  said  Marion,  smiling  in  spite  of  herself.  "  Cer- 
tainly not' one  who  is  formed  on  a  very  conventional 
model.  I  like  you  very  much  —  I  am  sure  you  know 
that, —  but  I  have  no  intention  of  marrying  you." 

It  cost  her  something  of  an  effort  to  say  this  —  to 
put  away,  finally  as  it  were,  the  glittering  prize  that 
life  had  cast  in  her  way.  But,  thus  brought  face  to 
face  with  the  necessity  for  decision,  she  found  that  no 
other  answer  was  possible  to  her.  Yet  the  form  of 
words  that  she  chose  did  not  convey  her  meaning  in  an 
unalterable  sense  to  the  man  Avatching  her  with  such 
keen,  brilliant  e3-es. 

19 


290  FAIBY   GOLD. 

"You  have  no  intention  of  marrying  me!"  he 
repeated.  "  Does  that  mean  that  you  will  not  form 
any  such  intention  —  that  you  will  not  take  the  subject 
into  consideration?  " 

"There  is  no  reason  why  I  should,"  she  replied. 
"  It  is  best  that  you  should  think  no  more  of  it." 

"  I  can  not  agree  to  that,"  he  said.  "  On  the  con- 
trary, it  seems  to  me  best,  from  every  point  of  view, 
that  I  should  continue  to  think  of  it,  and  endeavor  lo 
1  ring  it  to  pass.  I  warn  you  that  I  am  not  a  man  who 
is  easily  daunted.  Unless  you  intend  to  marry  some 
one  else,  I  sliall  continue  my  efforts  to  induce  you  to 
marry  me." 

"  Not  if  I  tell  }  ou  there  is  no  use  in  such  efforts?  " 
said  JNIarion. 

"  You  can  not  possibly  tell  whether  thfre  would  be 
u^e  in  them  or  not,"  he  persisted,  "unless  you  are 
decided  with  regard  to  some  other  man.  If  so,  I  hope 
you  will  tell  me." 

'•'Iliert!  is  no  other  man  in  question,"  she  said, 
cold  y.  '  1  may  surely  be  supposed  to  know  my  own 
mind  without  'leing  bound  to  any  one." 

"  And  I  laiow  mine,"  he  replied,  "  so  positively 
that,  until  you  are  bo..nd  to  some  one  else,  I  shall  not 
rehnqiiish  the  hope  of  inducing  you  to  marry  me.  I 
give  >ou  fair  w^arning  of  that." 

"  Really,  JNlr.  Singleton,"  said  Marion,  who  hardly 
knew  whe  her  to  be  vexed  or  amused,  "  you  are  a  very 
siagulai'  person.  Are  \o\x.  not  aware  that  a  man  must 
al'ide  b}'^  tlie  woman's  decision  in  such  a  matter  as 
this?" 

"I  am  not  so  uncivilized  as  you  imagine,"  he 
answered.      "  Of  course  I  know  it.     But  everywhere 


FAIEY    GOLD.  201 

and  always  he  has  the  right  of  endeavoring  to  change 
that  decision  if  he  can.  And  I  have  a  double  n  ason 
for  desiring  to  change  yours.  I  not  only  "want  lo 
marry  you,  but  I  also  want  you  to  have  your  share  of 
my  fortune  " 

"  I  have  no  sliare  in  it,"  she  said,  haughtily — for 
surely  such  a  pei'sistent  suitor  as  this  promised  to  be 
very  troublesome  ;  —  "  you  know  that  well,  and  you 
know  also  that  I  have  forbidden  you  to  speak  of  it 
to  me." 

"  Henceforth  I  will  endeavor  to  obey  3'ou,"  he 
answered,  with  the  coui'tesy  which  now  and  then  con- 
trasted oddly  with  the  usual  abruptness  of  his  manner. 
"  But  3  ou  can  not  forbid  me  to  think  of  it —  nor  of 
you." 

"  I  hope,"  she  said,  "  that  when  I  go  away  you  will 
very  soon  cease  to  think  of  me." 

He  smiled.  "Do  you  think,"  he  asked,  "  that  I 
shall  not  follow  you?  The  way  to  Europe  is  as  open 
lo  me  as  to  you." 

'•  But  if  1  forbid  it?"  she  cried,  with  asuddeu  sense 
of  dismay. 

"You  have  no  right  to  forbid  it,"  he  answered, 
quietly.  "  I  have  no  intention  of  accompanying  you, 
and  1  have  surely  been  guilty  of  nothing  which  could 
lead  5^ou  to  dis  wn  my  acquaintance  should  we  me*  t 
in  Rome  or  elsewhere." 

Mai  ion  fancied  that  after  his  declaration,  and  the 
refusal  with  which  it  had  been  met,  George  Singleton 
would  leave  Scarborough,  since  he  had  certainly  no 
business  to  detain  him  there.  But  that  gentleman 
proved  himself  to  be  of  another  opinion.  He  not 
only  remained  in  Scarborough,  but  he  c(mtinued  his 


292  FAIBY   GOLD. 

visits  with  the  same  regularity  which  had  characterized 
them  before.  Partl}^  vexed,  partly  amused,  Marion, 
nevertheless,  took  precautions  to  guard  against  any 
embarrassing  renewal  of  his  suit.  She  ceased  to  re- 
ceive him  alone,  and  whenever  it  was  possible  she 
turned  him  over  to  Helen  for  entertainment.  To  this 
he  apparently  did  not  object  in  the  least.  He  had 
hardlj^  met  Miss  Morley  before,  and  her  soft  gentle- 
ness charmed  him.  It  was  the  tyY)e  of  womanhood 
best  suited  to  his  own  passionate,  impulsive  nature ; 
and  he  yielded  to  its  influence  with  an  abandon  that 
surprised  himself. 

'•  You  have  no  idea  what  an  effect  j^ou  have  upon 
me,"  he  said  to  her  on  one  occasion.  "  When  I  come 
into  your  presence  I  am  like  a  cat  that  is  smoothed  the 
right  way  —  you  put  me  into  harmony  and  accord  with 
all  the  world." 

It  was  impossible  not  to  laugh  at  the  frankness  of 
this  assertion,  as  well  as  the  homeliness  of  the  com- 
parison. "  I  am  very  glad  lo  hear  that  my  presence 
has  a  good  effect  upon  j'ou,"  said  Helen;  "  although 
I  do  not  know  why  it  should  be  so." 

"  I  suppose  some  people  would  call  it  magnetism," 
he  answered ;  "  but  I  think  it  is  simply  owing  to  the 
fact  that  your  nature  is  so  placid  and  gentle  that  you 
exercise  a  calming  influence  upon  the  passions  of 
others." 

"  My  nature  is  not  so  placid  and  gentle  as  j'ou 
imagine,  perhaps,"  she  said,  with  something  of  a 
shadow  stealing  over  her  face.     "I  have  passions  too." 

"Have  you?"  he  asked,  rather  incredulous^. 
"  Well,  if  so  they  must  be  of  a  very  mild  order,  or 
else   3'ou  understand  managing  them  in  a  wonderful 


FAIBY   GOLD.  293 

manner.  I  wish  you  would  teach  me  how  to  manage 
mine." 

She  looked  at  him  with  her  blue  eyes,  and  shook  her 
head.  "  I  am  afraid  you  would  not  care  to  learn  the 
only  thing  that  I  could  teach,"  she  said. 

"  "Why  not?  I  think  that  I  should  like  to  learn 
anj'thing  that  you  would  teach." 

"Perhaps,  then,  if  our  acquaintance  lasts  long 
enough,  I  may  take  you  at  your  word  some  day,"  she 
replied,  smiling. 

In  saying  this  she  thought  herself  very  safe ;  for 
she  had  little  idea  that  their  association  would  outlast 
the  day  on  which  Marion  left  Scarborough.  She  knew 
that  the  latter  had  been  offered  the  opportunity  of 
regaining  her  lost  fortune  in  the  most  legitimate  and 
satisfactory  way,  and  had  little  doubt  but  that  the 
matter  would  end  by  her  accepting  George  Singleton. 

"  For  Marion  was  never  meant  to  be  poor,"  she 
said  to  herself ;  ' '  and  he  really  seems  to  have  a  great 
deal  of  good  in  him  —  much  more  than  one  could  have 
fancied.  And  be  takes  her  treatment  of  him  very 
nicely.  It  is  kind  of  him  to  seem  to  like  my  society, 
instead  of  finding  me  a  dreadful  bore." 

She  said  as  much  as  this  to  Marion,  who  laughed. 
"  There  is  very  good  reason  for  his  not  finding  you  a 
bore,"  Marion  replied.  "He  enjoys  your  society 
much  more  than  mine  —  it  suits  him  better.  I  can 
see  that  very  plainly.  In  fact,  the  thing  is,  that  he 
and  I  are  too  much  alike  to  assimilate  well.  We  are 
both  too  fiery,  too  impulsive  in  our  natures  and  strong 
in  our  passions.  You  are  the  counteracting  influence 
that  we  need.  Instinct  tells  him  so,  as  experience 
tells  me." 


294     *  FAIEY    GOLD. 

"  Marion,  what  utter  nonsense!  " 

"  So  far  from  that,  the  vei}'  best  sense,  my  dear. 
There  is  only  one  person  who  has  a  more  beneficial 
influence  upon  me  than  you  have.  That  is  Claire,  and 
I  am  ojoinsr  to  her.  If  Mr.  Singleton  is  wise  he  will 
stay  with  you." 

"  If  I  thought  you  were  in  earnest  in  saying  sucli  a 
thing  as  tliat,  you  would  really  provoke  me,"  said 
Helen,  gravely. 

"  Then  30U  may  be  sure  that  I  am  not  in  earnest," 
cried  Mai'iou  ;  "  for  I  would  do  anything  sooner  than 
provoke  y^ou.  Ko  man  in  the  world  is  worth  a  sngle 
vexed  thought  between  3'ou  and  me." 

It  was  a  few  days  after  this  that,  everything  being 
at  last  settled,  she  finally  left  the  place  where  she  had 
gained  and  lost  a  fortune, —  where  she  had  sounded 
some  depths  of  experience  and  learned  some  lessons 
of  wisdom  that  could  not  soon  be  forgotten. 

'•Marion,"  said  Helen  the  evening  before  her 
departure,  "  I  am  going  to  have  a  Mass  said  for  my 
intention  to-morrovv  morning  —  and,  of  course,  that 
means  you.     Will  you  not  come  to  the  church.?  " 

"  With  pleasure,"  answered  the  other,  quickly. 
"  Indeed  I  am  not  so  absolutt  ly  a  heatlien  but  that  I 
meant  to  go,  in  any  event.  I  am  setting  out  anew  in 
life,  as  it  were  ;  and  I  should  like  to  ask  God  to  bless 
this  second  beginning,  as  I  certainly  did  not  ask  Him 
to  bless  the  first." 

"  Then  you  will  be  at  the  church  at  eight  o'clock?  " 
said  Helen.  "And  afterward  breakfast  with  me,  so 
that  you  will  not  net  d  to  return  here  before  meeting 
3'our  train.  I  should  like  the  last  bread  that  you 
break  in  Scarborough  to   be  broken    with  me." 


FAIEY    GOLD.  295 

"  It  shall  be  exactly  as  30U  wish,"  observed  Marion, 
touched  by  the  request,  whicli  rniant  more,  she  knew, 
than  appeared  on  the  surface.  For  it  was  not  only 
that  Helen  wished  to  renew  the  link  of  hospitality  — 
not  only  that  she  desired,  as  she  said,  that  the  last 
bread  broken  by  Marion  in  Scaiborough  should  be 
broken  with  her  in  token  of  their  renewed  amit}', — 
but  she  wished  to  show  to  all  the  world  that  had  so 
curiously  watched  the  course  of  events  in  which  the 
beautiful  stranger  was  concerned,  that  their  friendly 
and  cousinly  relations  were  unchanged.  All  this 
Marion  understood  without  wotds. 

Ei$>;ht  o'clock  the  next  morning  found  her  in  the 
church.  As  she  acknowledged,  she  had  asked  no 
blessing  of  God  on  her  former  beginning  of  life  —  that 
life  which  had  come  to  such  utter  failure  in  every  re- 
spect ;  and  in  the  realization  of  this  failure  much  of 
her  proud  self-confidence  had  forsaken  her.  She  had 
asked  only  that  opportunity  should  be  given,  and  she 
had  felt  within  herself  the  power  to  win  all  that  she 
desired.  Opportunity  had  been  given,  and  she  had 
endid  by  losing  everything,  saving  only  the  remnant 
of  her  self-respect  and  Helen's  generous  affection. 
These  thoughts  came  to  her  with  force  as  she  knelt  in 
the  liltle  chapel,  knowing  that  she  was  going  forth  to 
a  new  life  with  diminished  prospects  <  f  worldly  suc- 
cess, but  with  a  deeper  knowledge  of  herself,  of  the 
res[)onsibililies  of  existence,  and  of  the  claims  of 
others,   than  she  had  possessed  before. 

Then  she  remembered  how  she  had  knelt  in  this 
same  place  with  Brian  Earle,  and  felt  herself  drawn 
near  to  the  household  of  faith.  It  had  been  an 
attraction    which  had  led  to  nothing,  because  it  had 


296  FAIUY   GOLD. 

been  founded  on  human  rather  than  on  divine  love. 
Now  that  the  human  love  was  lost,  had  the  divine  no 
meaning  left?  The  deep  need  of  her  soul  answered 
this  ;  and  when  she  bent  her  head  as  the  priest  at  the 
altar  offered  the  Holy  Sacrifice,  it  was  with  a  more 
real  act  of  faith  and  worship  than  she  had  made  on 
that  daj'  when  it  seemed  as  if  but  a  step  divided  her 
from  the  Church  of  God. 

Mass  over,  she  went  to  say  a  few  words  of  farewell 
to  Father  Byrne,  and  then  accompanied  Helen  home. 
It  had  been  a  long  time  since  she  entered  her 
aunt's  house ;  and  the  recollections  of  her  first  coming 
into  it,  and  of  the  welcome  which  had  then  met  her, 
seemed  to  rush  upon  her  as  she  crossed  the  threshold. 
"  If  it  were  only  to  do  over  again  !  "  she  thought,  with 
a  pang.  When  they  sat  down  to  breakfast  she  glanced 
at  the  place  which  she  had  so  often  seen  Rathborne 
occupy,  and  thought  that  but  for  her  Helen  might 
never  have  been  undeceived,  might  never  have  suffered 
with  regard  to  him.  "  At  least  not  in  the  way  she  has 
suffered,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  In  some  way,  how- 
ever, she  must  have  suffered  sooner  or  later.  There- 
fore perhaps  it  is  best  as  it  is  —  for  her.  But  that 
does  not  exciise  me.  If  only  I  might  be  permitted  to 
make  some  atonement  I " 

But  atonement  is  difficult  to  make  in  this  world, 
either  for  our  mistakes  or  our  wrong-doing.  The  logic 
of  life  is  stern  indeed.  From  certain  acts  flow  certain 
consequences  as  inevitably  as  conclusions  proceed  from 
premises  or  night  follows  day.  It  is  vain  to  cry  out 
that  we  had  no  such  end  in  ^-iew.  The  end  comes 
despite  our  protests,  and  we  are  helpless  in  the  face 
of  that  which  springs  from  our  own  deed. 


FAinr   GOLD.  297 

These  reflections  had  in  great  measure  become 
familiar  lO  Marion,  especially  with  regard  to  the  pain 
she  had  brought  upon  Helen.  She  had  been  forced 
to  realize  clearly  that  what  it  would  have  been  easily 
possible  for  her  to  avoid,  it  was  absolutely  impos- 
sible for  her  to  repair.  To  Helen's  own  goodness, 
generosity  and  gentleness  she  owed  the  relief  that  had 
come  to  her  on  the  subject.  Nevertheless,  she  longed 
greatly  for  some  means  of  repairing  the  injury  she 
had  done,  the  suffering  she  had  caused,  and  —  was  it 
nn  inspiration  which  suddenly  seemed  to  suggest  to 
h  r  such  a  means? 


CHAPTER    XXIX.   , 

BREAKFAST  over,  tliey  went  into  the  familiar 
sitting-room  —  for  there  was  st.ll  an  hour  or 
two  before  Marion's  train  was  due, —  and  it 
was  there  that  Helen  said,  with  a  smile :  "  Mr.  Single- 
ton is  coming  to  see  you  off:  I  met  him  yesterday 
evening  after  I  left  you,  and  he  announced  liis  inten- 
tion of  doing  so ;  so  I  asked  him  to  come  here  and 
accompany  us  to  the  train.  Of  course  there  is  no  Jieid 
of  him:  tlie  boys  will  do  all  that  is  necessary;  but  I 
thought  it  would  look  better.  People  have  tallied  so 
much  about  you  both,  that  I  would  like  them  to  have 
a  public  proof  that  you  are  really  on  very  good 
terms." 

"  You  think  of  everything,  Helen,"  said  Marion. 
"  What  a  wise  little  head  you  have !  " 

"  Do  you  think  it  is  the  head?  "  asked  Helen.  "  I 
think  it  is  the  heart.  One  feels  things  rather  than 
thinks  them —  at  least  1  do." 

"I  know  you  do,"  said  her  cousin.  "  It  is  your 
heart  in  the  first  place ;  but  you  must  not  underrate 
your  head,  which  certainly  has  something  to  do  with 
it." 

Helen   shook   the    appendage   in    question.      "  Not 
much,"  she  answered.     "  I  have  never  fancied  that 
my  strong  ])oint  was  in  my  head." 
(298) 


FAIBY   GOLD.  299 

"  Head  or  heart,  3^011  :ire  seldom  wrong,"  said 
Marion,  "when  it  comes  to  a  practical  decision. 
Whereas  I — you  know  I  have  been  very  vain  of  my 
cleverness,  and  yet  I  am  alwa3's  wi'ong  —  no,  don't 
contradict  me  ;  I  mean  exactly  what  I  saj^,  and  I  have 
tLe  best  possible  reason  for  meaning  it.  But,  Helen, 
let  me  ask  one  favor  of  you.  When  Mr.  Singleton 
(  omes,  leave  me  alone  with  him  for  a  few  minutes. 
]SJow  mind,  oyily  for  a  few  minutes.  I  have  something 
t  '  say  to  him,  but  it  wi.l  take  only  a  little  time  to 
say  it." 

"That  will  be  easily  arranged,"  said  Helen,  who 
would  not  suffer  herself  even  to  look  a  question. 

So  when  Mr.  Singleton  presently  arrived,  she 
spirited  herself  and  her  mother  out  of  the  room  in  the 
most  unobtrus  ve  manner  possible,  leaving  the  young 
man  alone  with  Marion. 

'1  he  latter  did  not  waste  one  of  the  minutes  for  which 
she  had  asked.  She  plunged  without  preface  into 
the  subject  on  which  she  desired  to  speak.  "Mr. 
Singleton,"  she  began,  abruptly,  "I  am  going  to  say 
something  very  unconventional ;  but  you  who  are  so 
unconventional  yourself  will  pardon  me,  I  am  sure. 
Briefly,  I  am  going  to  recall  to  your  mind  someihing 
that  you  said  when  —  when  we  had  our  last  private 
c  nversation.  You  then  declared  youv  inteniion  of 
following  me  abroad,   is  it  not  so?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Singleton,  with  comi)osure ;  "I 
did,  and  I  meant  what  I  said.  You  will  soon  see  :ne 
o\er  ihere." 

"I  think  not  —  I  hope  not."  she  said,  quickly; 
"  for  I  am  sure  that  you  have  too  much  self -respect  to 
persecute  a  woman  with  attentions  which  can  lead  to 


SOO  FAIRY   GOLD. 

noth'ng.     And  I  tell  you  in  the  most  positive  manner 
that  they  can  only  bring  you  disappointment." 

"  You  can  not  be  sure  of  that,"  he  observed,  with  a 
touch  of  his  former  obstinancy.  "  Women  have  some- 
times changed  their  minds." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  Not  -women  who  feel  as  I 
do.  Listen,  and  I  will  tell  you  the  whole  truth  about 
myself,  since  there  is  no  other  wa}^  of  convincing  j'ou.  • 
I  will  not  deny  that  what  you  offer  is  in  some  degree 
a  temptation  to  me  —  I  am  worldly  enough  and 
unworthy  enough  for  that ;  and  it  has  been  a  tempta- 
tion, too,  to  suffer  you  to  follow  me,  and  keep,  as  it 
were,  the  chance  open,  in  case  I  should  find  that  it  was 
the  best  life  offered  me.  But  I  know  this  would  be 
wrong  ;  for  I  cannot  deceive  myself  into  fancying  that 
there  is  any  doubt  whatever  about  my  feelings.  If  my 
heart  were  empty,  you  might  in  time  fill  it.  But  it  is 
not  —  I  will  be  perfectly  frank  with  you  at  any  cost  to 
myself, —  another  man  has  long  since  filled  it." 

There  was  a  pause  after  these  words  —  words  which 
it  cost  Marion  very  much  to  utter.  To  acknowledge 
even  to  herself  the  fact  which  they  expressed  was  hard 
enough ;  but  to  acknowledge  it  to  another,  to  this  man 
who  sat  regarding  her  steadily  with  his  dark,  brilliant 
eyes,  was  harder  still.  But  in  courage,  at  least,  she 
was  not  deficient,  and  her  own  eves  met  his  without 
drooping. 

'  •  You  see  now  why  I  can  not  let  you  follow  a  false 
hope  ill  following  me,"  she  continued,  when  after  a 
moment  he  had  still  not  spoken.  "  I  maj'  be  merce- 
nary in  some  degree,  but  I  am  not  mercenary  enough 
to  marrvyou  for  the  sake  of  your  fortune,  when  I  love 
another  man.     I  have  tried  to  crush  this  love,  and  it 


FAinY    GOLD.  301 

humiliates  me  to  acknowledge  it ;  but  I  have  incurred 
the  humiliation  in  order  to  be  perfectl}?^  frank  with 
you,  and  to  keep  you  from  making  a  great  mistake." 

The  last  words  seemed  to  touch  him  suddenly.  His 
whole  face  —  a  face  which  showed  every  passing 
emotion  —  changed  and  softened.  "  Believe  me,"  he 
said,  "  I  appreciate  your  frankness,  and  I  see  no 
humiliation  in  your  confession.  It  is  good  of  you, 
however,  to  suffer  the  pain  of  making  it  in  order  to 
save  me  from  what  you  think  would  be  a  mistake." 

"  I  know  that  it  would  be  a  mistake —  a  mistake  in 
every  "way,"  she  said,  earnestly.  "  And  I  have  made 
so  many  mistakes  already  that  I  cannot  add  another 
to  the  list.  Believe  me,  if  you  succeeded  in  persuad- 
ing me  to  marry  you,  it  would  be  a  mistake  which  we 
would  both  regret  to  the  end  of  our  lives.  For  we  do 
not  suit  each  other  at  all.  When  you  marry  you  ought 
to  select  a  woman  different  altogether  from  what  I 
am  :  a  woman  gentler,  yet  with  more  moral  strength." 

"  That  may  be,"  he  answered,  in  a  meditative  tone  ; 
"  but,  then,  no  other  woman  can  be  the  one  to  whom 
my  father  has  left  his  fortune, who  has  generously  given 
it  back  to  me,  and  with  whom  I  should  like  to  share  it." 

"That  is  a  feeling  which  I  can  understand,  and 
which  does  you  credit,"  she  said.  "  But  do  j-ou  not 
see  that  I  could  hardly  accept  j^our  suit  on  such  a 
ground  as  that }  It  woultl  have  been  better  to  have 
kept  your  fortune  than  to  do  that.  No,  Mr.  Singleton : 
I  beg  you  to  think  no  more  of  this ;  I  beg  you  not  to 
follow  me  with  any  such  thought  in  your  mind.  Prom- 
ise me  that  you  will  not." 

She  leaned  toward  him  in  her  earnestness,  and  held 
out  her  hand  with  a  gesture  of  entreaty.     George  Sin- 


302  FAIBY   GOLD. 

gleton  had  something  chivah-ous  in  his  nature,  under 
all  his  brusque  exterior ;  and  taking  the  Httle  hand  he 
raised  it  to  his  lips. 

"The  confidence  that  you  have  placed  in  me,"  he 
said,  "  makes  it  impossible  that  I  can  do  anything  to 
annoy  you.  Your  request  is  a  command.  I  shall  not 
follow  you." 

Her  eyes  thanked  him.  "  Now  I  can  go  in  peace, 
because  I  shall  not  have  to  think  that  I  am  misleading 
any  one.  However  hard  or  lonely  my  path  in  life  may 
be,  I  want  henceforth  to  keep  my  conscience  clear. 
I  have  tasted  the  bitterness  of  self-reproach,  and  I 
know  what  it  is.  Yes,  you  will  stay.  You  have  duties 
here  now,  and  —  and  I  hope  it  will  not  be  long  before 
you  will  find  happiness." 

He  had  no  opportunity  to  reply,  if  he  had  been 
inclined  to  do  so.  Helen,  remembering  Marion's  urgent 
request  that  the  minutes  allowed  for  her  "  few  words  " 
might  be  short,  was  heard  approaching.  Her  clear, 
sweet  voice  gave  some  orders  in  the  hall,  and  then  she 


& 


entered  the  room. 

"I  grieve  to  say,  Marion,  that  it  is  almost  time  for 
you  to  go,"  she  announced.  "Ah,  how  sad  part- 
ing is!  " 

Half  an  hour  later,  when  Marion  was  borne  away 
from  Scarborough,  her  last  backward  glance  showed 
her  Helen  and  Singleton  standing  side  by  side  on  the 
station  platform,  wa\'ing  her  an  adieu;  and  if  she 
smiled  at  the  sight,  it  cannot  be  denied  that  she  also 
sio-hed.  With  her  own  hand  she  had  closed  the  door 
of  a  possibly  brilliant  destiny  ;  and,  naturally  enough, 
it  bad  never  looked  so  bright  as  when  she  said  to 
herself,  "That  is  over  finally  and  forever." 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

IT  was  with  little  pause  for  sight-seeing  on  the  way 
that  Marion  made  her  journey  to  Rome.  A  few 
clays  in  Paris  constituted  her  ouly  delay ;  then, 
flying  swiftly  down  through  Italy — reserving  until 
later  the  pleasure  of  seeing  the  beautiful  historic  cities 
wiiich  slie  passed  —  she  did  not  stop  again  until  she 
found  herself  within  the  walls  of  Rome. 

And  not  even  the  fact  of  entering  by  means  of  a 
prosaic  railway  could  lessen  the  thrill  with  which  she 
realized  that  she  was  indeed  within  the  city  of  the 
Cffisars  and  the  Popes  —  the  city  that  since  the 
besinnins:  of  historic  time  has  been  the  chief  center  of 
the  earth,  the  mistress  of  the  world,  and  the  seat  of 
the  apostolic  throne.  It  was  strange  to  feel  herj-elf 
in  this  place  of  memories,  yet  to  step  into  a  modern 
railway  station,  resounding  with  noise  and  bustle ; 
but  even  Rome  was  forgotten  when  she  found  herself 
in  Claire's  arms,  and  Claire's  sweet  voice  bade  her 
welcome. 

What  followed  seemed  like  a  dream  —  the  swift 
drive  through  populous  streets,  with  glimpses  of 
stately  buildings  and  narrow,  picturesque  waj^s ;  the 
passing  under  a  great,  sounding  arch  into  a  court, 
where  the   soft    splash  of    a   fountain  was  heard  as  . 

(303) 


304  FAIRY   GOLD. 

soon  as  the  carriage  stopped ;  the  ascent  of  an  appar- 
ently interminable  flight  of  stone  steps,  and  pausing 
at  length  on  a  landing,  where  an  open  door  gave 
access  to  an  ante-chamber,  and  thence  through  parting 
curtains  to  a  long  salon,  where  a  pretty,  elderly  lady 
rose  to  give  Marion  greeting.  This  was  Claire's  kind 
friend  and  chaperon,  Mrs.  Kerr,  wlio  said  to  herself, 
as  she  took  the  young  stranger's  hand,  "  What  a 
beautiful  creature!  " 

Marion,  on  her  part,  was  charmed,  not  only  with 
Mrs.  Kerr,  but  with  all  her  surroundings.  The  for- 
eign aspect  of  everj'thing  enchanted  ht-r;  the  Italian 
servants,  the  Italian  di-«hes  of  the  collation  spread  for 
her,  the  soft  sound  of  the  language,  -  all  entered  into 
and  made  part  of  her  pleasure.  "O  Claire!"  she 
saiil,  when  present'y  she  was  taken  to  the  pretty 
chamber  prepared  for  her.  "I  think  I  am  going  to 
be  so  happy  with  you  — if  only  you  are  not  disgusted 
with  me,  when  >ou  hear  the  story  I  have  to  tell  you!  " 

Claire  laughed,  as  she  bent  and  kissed  her.  "  I 
have  not  the  least  fear  that  I  shall  be  disgusted  with 
you,"  she  said.  "You  might  do  wrong  things, 
Marion  —  things  one  would  blame  or  censure, —  but  I 
am  sure  that  you  will  never  do  a  mean  thing,  and  it  is 
mean  tlangs  which  disgust  one." 

"Ah!  "  said  Marion,  Vvlth  a  sigh,  "  do  not  be  too 
sure.  I  am  not  going  to  possess  your  good  opinion 
on  false  pretenses,  so  you  shall  hear  to-morrow  all 
that  has  happened  since  we  parted.  Prepare  your 
charity,  for  I  shall  need  it." 

And,  indeeil,  on  the  next  day  Claire  heard  with  the 
utmost  fullness  tdl  that  had  occurred  since  the  two 
parted   at    their    convent    school.       As    far    as    the 


FAIBY   GOLD. 


305 


Eatbborne  incident  was  concerneil,  Marion  did  not 
spare  herself;  and,  altliough  Claire  looked  grave  over 
her  self-accusation,  she  was  unable  to  express  any 
regret  that,  even  at  the  cost  of  Helen's  suffering,  the 
engagement  of  the  latter  to  Rathborne  should  have 
been  ended.  "  I  saw  the  man  onl}'  once,"  she  said, 
"  but  that  was  enouo-h  to  make  me  distrust  him  thor- 
oughl}-.  He  has  a  bad  face  —  a  face  which  shows  a 
narrow  and  cruel  nature.  I  always  trembled  at  the 
thouoht  of  Helen's  uniting  her  life  to  his.  There 
seemed  no  possible  prospect  of  happiness  for  her  in 
such  a  choice.  So  I  am  glad  that  at  almost  any  cost 
the  engaoement  —  entanglement,  or  whatever  it  was  — 
has  been  ended.  And  I  can  not  see  that  your  share 
in  it  was  so  very  heinous." 

"  That  is  because  I  have  not  made  it  clear  to  you, 
then,"  answered  Marion.  "•  I,  too,  always  distrusted 
the  man,  but  I  liked  his  admiration,  his  homage ;  it 
was  my  first  taste  of  the  power  for  which,  you  know, 
I  always  longed.  Indeed,  Claire,  there  are  no 
excuses  to  be  made  for  me  ;  and  if  the  matter  ended 
well  for  Helen  —  as  I  reall}^  believe  it  did, —  I  am 
still  to  blame  for  all  her  suffering ;  and.  you  do  not 
think  that  evil  is  less  evil  because  good  comes  of  it?  " 

"  I  certainly  do  not  think  that,"  said  Claire.  "  But 
you  had  no  evil  intention,  I  am  sure:  you  never  meant 
to  hurt  Helen." 

"No,  I  did  not  mean  to  do  so,  but  I  was  careless 
whether  she  suffered  or  not.  I  thought  only  of  my- 
self —  my  own  vanity,  mj^  own  amusement.  Nothing 
can  change  that,  and  so  I  have  always  felt  that  it 
was  right  I  should  suffer  just  as  I  made  her  suffer. 
Retribution  came  very  quickl}^  Claire." 

20 


306  FAIBV    GOLD. 

"  Did  it?  "  asked  Claire.  Her  soft,  gray  eyes  were 
full  of  unspoken  sympathy.  "  Well,  suffering  is  a 
great  thing,  dear;  it  enables  us  to  expiate  so  much! 
Tell  me  about  j-oiirs  —  if  you  like." 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  had  come  here  just  to  tell  you,"  said 
Marion.  And  then  followed  the  story  of  her  engage- 
ment to  Brian  Earle,  her  anger  because  he  would  not 
comply  v\ith  his  uncle's  wishes,  their  parting,  her 
unexpected  inheritance  of  IMr.  Singleton's  fortune, 
Rathborne's  revenge  in  finding  the  lost  heir,  her 
surrender  of  the  fortune  to  him,  and  her  rejection  of 
his  suit. 

"So  here  I  am,"  she  observed  in  conclusion,  with 
a  faint  smile,  "•  like  one  who  has  passed  through  ter- 
rible storms :  who  has  been  shipwrecked  and  has 
barely  escaped  with  life  — that  is,  with  a  fragment  of 
self-respect.  I  am  so  glad  I  had  strength  to  give  up 
that  fortune,  Claire !  You  know  how  I  always  desired 
wealth." 

"I  know  so  well,"  said  Claire,  "that  I  am  prnud 
of  you  —  proud  that  you  had  the  courage  to  do  what 
must  have  cost  j'ou  so  much.  But  I  always  told  3'ou 
that  I  knew  you  better  than  you  knew  yourself ;  and  I 
was  sure  that  you  would  never  do  anything  unworthy, 
not  even  to  gain  ilie  end  you  had  so  much  at  heart. 
But,  INIarion  "  — her  face  grew  grave,  —  "I  have 
something  to  tell  you  that  I  fear  may  prove  unpleasant 
to  you.      Brian  E:irle  is  here." 

"Brian  Earle  lieri*!  "  repeated  Marion.  She  be- 
came very  pale,  and  for  a  moment  was  silent.  Then 
she  said,  proudly,  "  I  hope  no  one  will  imagine  that  I 
suspected  this.  It,  ught  he  was  in  Germany.  But  it 
will  not  be  necessary  for  me  to  meet  him." 


FAIEY   GOLD.  307 

"That  must  be  for  you  to  decide,"  said  Claire,  in 
a  somewhat  troubled  tone.  "He  comes  to  see  us 
occasionally — he  is  an  old  friend  of  Mrs.  Kerr's  — 
but,  if  you  desire  it,  I  will  ask  her  to  let  him  know 
that  it  will  he  best  for  him  to  discontinue  his  visits." 

"  No,"  said  Marion,  with  quick,  instuictive  recoil; 
"  for  that  would  be  to  acknowledge  that  I  shrink  from 
seeing  him.  If  I  do  shrink,  he  shall  not  be  made 
aware  of  it.  Perhaps,  when  he  knows  that  I  am  here, 
he  will  desire  to  keep  away.  If  not,  I  am  —  I  will 
be  strong  enough  to  meet  him  with  indifference." 

Claire  looked  at  her  steadily,  wistfully ;  it  seemed 
as  if  she  were  trying  to  know  all  that  might  be  known. 
"  If  you  do  not  feel  indifference,"  she  said,  gently, 
after  a  moment,  "  is  it  well  to  simulate  it?  " 

"How  can  you  ask  such  a  question?"  demanded 
Marion,  with  a  touch  of  her  old  haughtiness.  "  It  is 
not  only  well  —  it  is  essential  to  ray  self-respect. 
But  I  do  not  acknowledge  that  it  wall  be  simulation. 
Why  should  I  be  other  than  indifferent  to  Brian  Earle.^ 
As  I  confessed  to  you  a  few  minutes  ago,  I  suffered 
when  we  parted,  but  that  is  over  now." 

"  You  care  for  him  no  longer,  then?  " 

"Is  it  possible  I  could  care  for  a  man  who  has 
treated  me  as  he  has  done?  For  I  still  believe  that 
it  was  his  duty  to  have  remained  with  his  uncle, 
and  if  —  if  he  had  cared  for  me  at  all  he  would  have 
done  so." 

"But  perhaps,"  said  Claire,  "he  perceived  that 
passionate  desire  of  yours  for  wealth,  and  thought  that 
it  would  not  be  well  for  you  to  have  it  gratified.  I 
can  imagine  that." 

"  You  imagine,    then,    exactly   what   he  was  go  d 


308  FAIEY    GOLD. 

enough  to  say,"  replied  Marion,  dryly.  "  But  I  sup- 
pose you  know  enough  of  me  to  be  also  able  to  imagine 
that  I  was  not  very  grateful  for  such  a  form  of  regard. 
He  talked  like  a  moralist,  but  he  certainly  did  not  feel 
like  a  lover,  and  so  I  let  him  go.  I  am  not  sorry  for 
that." 

"  Then,"  said  Claire,  after  a  short  pause  of  reflec- 
tion, "  I  cannot  see  any  reason  why  you  should  avoid 
meeting  him.  There  may  be  a  little  awkwardness  at 
first ;  but,  if  you  have  really  no  feeling  for  him,  that 
will  pass  away." 

"  I  should  prefer  to  avoid  such  a  meeting,  if  pos- 
sible," answered  Marion  ;  "  but  if  not  possible,  I  will 
endure.  Only,  if  you  can,  give  me  warning  when  it  is 
likely  to  occur." 

"That,  unfortunatel}^  is  what  I  can  hardly  do," 
said  Claire,  in  a  tone  of  regret.  "  Our  friends  have 
established  a  habit  of  dropping  in,  without  formality, 
almost  any  evening ;  and  so  we  never  know  who  is 
coming,  or  when." 

"In  that  case  there  is,  of  course,  nothing  to  be 
done.  I  can  onl}'  promise  that,  whenever  the  occasion 
occurs,  I  will  try  to  be  equal  to  it." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  that,"  answered  Claire. 

But  she  looked  concerned  as  she  went  awa3^  and  it 
was  evident  to  Mrs.  Kerr  that  she  was  more  than 
usually  thoughtful  that  evening.  As  she  had  said, 
their  friends  in  Rome  found  it  pleasant  to  drop 
informally  into  their  pretty  salon.  Artists  predomi- 
nated among  these  friends ;  so  it  was  not  strange  that 
she  watched  the  door,  thinking  that  Brian  Earle  might 
come,  and  conscious  of  a  wish  that  he  would;  for 
Blarion,   pleading  fatigue,   declined  to  appear  on  this 


FAIBY    GOLD.  309 

first  evening  after  her  arrival ;  and  Claire  said  to 
hersel?  that  if  Earle  did  come,  it  would  give  her  an 
opportunity  to  tell  him  what  meeting  lay  before  him, 
and  he  could  then  avoid  it  if  he  chose  to  do  so. 
When,  as  the  evening  passed  on,  it  became  at  length 
clear  that  he  was  not  coming —  and  there  was  no  rea- 
son beside  her  own  desire  for  expecting  him,  — Claire 
thought,  with  a  sigh,  that  events  must  talce  their 
course,  since  it  was  plainly  out  of  her  power  to  direct 
them. 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 

AND  events  did  take  their  course,  when,  a  few 
evenings    later,    Marion  suddenly   saw    Earle 

entering  the  salon,  where  three  or  four  visitors 
were  already  assembled.  She  herself  was  at  the  farther 
end  of  the  room,  and  somewhat  concealed  by  a  large 
Oriental  screen,  near  which  she  was  seated.  She  was 
very  glad  of  this  friendly  shelter  when  she  felt  her 
heart  leap  in  a  manner  which  fairly  terrified  her,  as, 
glancing  up,  she  saw  Earle's  face  in  the  doorway.  Her 
own  emotion  surprised  her  far  more  than  his  appear- 
ance ;  she  shrank  farther  back  into  the  shadow  to  con- 
ceal what  she  feared  might  be  perceptible  to  others, 
and  yet  she  could  not  refrain  from  following  him  with 
her  eyes. 

What  she  saw  was  this  —  that,  even  while  greeting 
Mrs.  Kerr,  his  glance  wandered  to  Claire  ;  that  his  first 
eager  step  was  taken  in  her  direction ;  and  that  his 
face,  when  he  took  her  hand,  was  so  eloquent  of 
pleasure  and  tender  admiration  that  it  made  Marion 
recall  some  words  he  had  spoken  when  they  first  knew 
each  other  in  Scarborough.  "She  charmed  me,"  he 
had  said  then  of  Claire  ;  "  she  is  so  simple,  so  candid, 
so  intent  upon  high  aims."  Every  word  came  back 
with  sudden  distinctness,  with  sudden,  piercing  mean- 
ing and  weight,  in  the  light  of  the  look  on  Earle's  face. 

(310) 


FAIItY   GOLD.  311 

"  He  is  in  love  with  Claire!  "  said  Marion  to  her- 
self. '•  Nothing  could  be  more  natural,  notliin<ji;  more 
suitable.  There  is  uo  struwale  here  between  his  heart 
and  his  judgment,  as  was  the  case  with  me.  She 
seems  to  be  made  for  him  in  every  respect.  W!iy  did 
I  not  think  of  it  sooner,  and  why  did  not  Claire  tell 
me  that  he  had  transferred  his  affection  to  her.?  Did 
she  want  me  to  see  for  myself,  or  did  she  think  that  I 
should  not  see?  But  there  is  no  reason  why  I  should 
care — none  whatever." 

Even  while  she  repeated  this  assurance  to  herself, 
however,  the  sinking  of  her  heart,  the  tremliling  of  her 
hands,  belied  it,  and  frightened  her  by  the  evidence 
of  a  feeling  she  had  not  suspected.  Surely,  among 
the  mysteries  of  our  being,  there  is  none  greater  than 
the  existence  and  growth  of  feelings  which  we  not  only 
do  not  encourage,  but  of  which  we  are  often  in  ab  o- 
lute  ignorance  until  some  flush  of  illumination  comes 
to  reveal  to  us  their  strength. 

Such  a  flash  came  now  to  Marion.  She  had  assured 
herself  that  she  had  put  Brian  P^arle  out  of  her  heart, 
and  instead  she  suddenly  found  that,  during  the  in- 
terval in  which  she  had  condemned  it  to  darkness  and 
silence,  her  feeling  for  him  had  increased  rather  than 
lessened.  And  she  was  now  face  to  face  with  the 
proof  that  he  had  forgotten  her  —  that  he  had  found 
in  Claire  the  true  ideal  of  his  fancy !  She  felt  that  it 
was  natural,  she  acknowledged  that  it  was  just,  but 
the  shock  was  overpowering. 

Fortunately,  she  happened  at  that  moment  to  be 
alone  —  a  gentleman  who  had  been  taltciug  to  her 
having  crossed  the  room  to  ask  Mrs.  Kerr  a  question. 
Seeing    him   about   to   retrace    his   steps,    a   sudden 


312  FAIBY    GOLD. 

instinct  of  flight  —  of  fliii;lit  at  any  cost  of  personal 
dignity  —  seized  Marion.  She  felt  that  in  another 
instant  Claire  would  point  her  out  to  Earle,  that  he 
would  be  forced  to  come  and  address  her.  Could  she 
bear  that.''  —  was  she  able  to  meet  him  as  indifferently 
as  she  desired  to  do  ?  Her  beating  pulses  told  her  no ; 
aud,  without  giving  herself  time  to  think,  she  rose, 
lifted  a  portiere  near  her,  and  passed  swiftly  atd. 
silently  from  the  room. 

Claire,  meanwhile,  glanced  up  at  Earle ;  aud  she, 
too,  met  that  look  of  tender  admiration  which  Marion 
perceived.  It  was  not  the  first  time  she  had  met  it, 
but  it  was  the  first  time  that  a  consciousness  of  its 
possible  meaning  flashed  upon  her.  She  did  not  color 
at  the  thought,  but  grew  instead  suddenly  pale,  and. 
glanced  toward,  the  corner  of  the  room  where  Mariou 
at  that  instant  had  made  her  escape ;  but  Claire  did 
not  perceive  this,  and,  with  the  sense  of  her  presence, 
said  to  Earle : — 

"You  have  probably  not  heard  that  my  friend  Marion 
Lynde  is  here?  " 

He  started.  "Miss  Lynde  here  —  in  Rome!  "  he 
asked.    "No,  I  had  not  heard  it.    Whj' has  she  come?" 

"  To  see  and  to  be  with  me,"  answered  Claire, 
calmly.  "  You  know,  pei'haps,  that  we  are  great 
friends." 

"  I  have  heard  Miss  Lynde  speak  of  3'ou,"  he  said, 
regaining  self-possession;  ''and  if  the  friendship 
struck  me  as  rather  a  strange  one,  knowing  little  of 
you  as  I  did  then,  j^ou  may  be  sure  that  it  strikes  me 
now  as  more  than  strange.  I  have  never  met  two 
people  in  my  life  who  seemed  to  me  to  have  less  in 
common." 


FAIRY   GOLD.  313 

"Pardon  me!"  returned  Claire.  "You  think  so 
because  you  do  not  know  either  of  us  very  well.  We 
have  really  a  great  deal  in  common,  and  I  doubt  if 
any  one  in  the  world  knows  Marion  as  well  as  I  do. ' ' 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  sudden  keen  glance  from 
under  brows  somewhat  bent.  "Are  you  not  aware 
that  I  had  at  one  time  reason  to  fancy  that  I  knew 
Miss  Lynde  quite  well?  "  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  Claire,  with  frankness;  "I  know. 
She  has  told  me  of  that.  But  in  such  a  relation  as 
the  one  which  existed  between  jou  for  a  time,  people 
sometimes  learn  very  little  of  each  other.  And  I 
think  that  perhaps  j^ou  did  not  learu  very  much  of 
her." 

"  I  learned  quite  enough,"  he  replied, —  "  all  that 
was  necessary  to  convince  me  that  I  had  made  a  great 
mistake.  And  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  Miss 
Lynde  reached  the  same  conclusion.  That,  I  be- 
lieve, is  all  that  there  is  to  say  of  the  matter."  He 
paused  a  moment,  then  added,  "If  she  is  here,  I 
hope  it  will  not  be  unpleasant  to  her  to  meet  me ; 
since  I  should  be  sorry  to  be  banished  from  this 
salon,  which  Mrs.  Kerr  and  yourself  make  so  at- 
tractive." 

"  There  is  no  reason  for  banishment,  unless  you 
desire  it,"  said  Claire.  "  Marion  does  not  object  to 
meeting  j^ou.  But  I  think  that  there  are  one  or  two 
things  that  j'ou  ought  to  know  before  3'ou  meet  her. 
Are  you  aware,  in  the  first  place,  that  she  has  given 
up  your  uncle's  fortune?  " 

"No,"  he  answered,  very  much  startled.  ""Why 
has  she  done  so?  " 

Because  Mr.   Singleton's  son  appeared,  and  she 


( I. 


314  FAIRY   GOLD. 

thought  that  he  should  in  justice  possess  his  father's 
fortune.     Do  you  not  think  she  was  right?  " 

"  Right?  —  I  suppose  so.  But  this  is  very  astonish- 
ing news.  You  are  positively  certain  that  George 
Singleton,  my  uncle's  son,  is  alive?  " 

"I  am  certain  that  Marion  has  told  me  so,  and  I  do 
not  suppose  she  is  mistaken,  since  she  has  resigned  a 
fortune  to  him.  People  are  usually  sure  before  they 
take  such  a  step  as  that." 

"  Yes,"  he  assented,  "  but  it  seems  almost  incred- 
ible. For  years  George  Singleton  has  been  thought 
to  be  dead,  ond  I  was  under  the  impression  that  my 
uncle  had  positive  reason  for  believing  him  so.  This 
being  the  case,  there  was  no  reason  why  he  should  not 
leave  his  fortune  as  he  liked,  and  I  was  glad  when  I 
heard  that  he  had  left  it  to  Miss  Lynde  ;  for  the  pos- 
session of  wealth  seemed  to  be  the  first  desire  of  her 
heart." 

"  Poor  Marioa!"  said  Claire,  gently.  "You  might 
be  more  tolerant  of  that  desire  if  you  knew  all  that 
she  has  suffered  —  suffered  in  a  way  peculiarly  hard 
to  her  —  from  poverty.  And  she  has  surely  proved  in 
the  most  conclusive  manner  that,  however  much  she 
desired  wealth,  she  was  not  prepared  to  keep  it  at  any 
cost  to  her  conscience  or  her  self-respect." 

"  Did  she,  then,  resign  all  the  fortune?  " 

"Very  nearly  all.  She  said  that  she  reluctantly 
retained  only  a  few  thousand  dollars." 

"But  is  it  possible  that  George  Singleton  did  not 
insist  upon  providing  for  her  fitly  ?  Whatever  his  other 
faults,  he  was  not  mercenary  —  formerly." 

"Mr.  Singleton  must  have  tried  every  possible 
argument  to  induce  her  to  keep  half  the  fortune,  but 


FAIEY   GOLD.  315 

she  refused  to  do  so.  I  think  she  felt  keenly  some 
reflections  that  had  been  thrown  on  her  by  Mr.  Sin- 
gleton's relatives,  and  wished  to  disprove  them." 

Earle  was  silent  for  a  minute.  He  seemed  trying 
to  adjust  his  mind  to  these  new  views  of  Marion's 
character.  "  And  you  tell  me  that  she  is  here  —  with 
you  ? ' ' 

"  I  was  about  to  say  that  she  is  in  the  room,"  Claire 
answered;  "but  I  do  not  see  her  just  now.  She  was 
here  a  few  minutes  ago." 

' '  Probably  my  appearance  sent  her  away.  Perhaps 
she  would  rather  not  meet  me." 

"  She  assured  me  that  she  did  not  object  to  meeting 
you ;  and,  unless  you  give  up  our  acquaintance,  I  do 
not  see  how  such  a  meeting  can  be  avoided ;  for  she 
has  come  to  stay  in  Rome  some  time." 

"  Well,"  said  Earle,  with  an  air  of  determination, 
"  I  certainly  have  no  intention  of  giving  up  your 
acquaintance.  Be  sure  of  that.  And  it  would  go 
hard  with  me  to  cease  visiting  here  in  the  pleasant, 
familiar  fashion  Mrs.  Kerr  and  yourself  have  allowed 
me  to  fall  into.  So  if  Miss  Lynde  does  not  object  to 
meeting  me,  there  assuredly  is  not  the  least  reason 
why  I  should  object  to  meeting  her." 

Claire  would  have  liked  to  ask,  in  her  sincere, 
straightforward  fashion,  if  all  his  feeling  for  Marion 
was  at  an  end  ;  and  she  might  have  done  so  but  for  the 
recollection  of  the  look  which  had  startled  her.  She 
did  not  acknowledge  to  herself  in  so  many  words  what 
that  look  might  mean ;  but  it  made  her  instinctively 
avoid  any  dangerous  question,  and  she  was  not  sorry 
when  at  this  point  their   tete-a-tete  was  interrupted. 

But  Marion  did  not  reappear ;  and  when  Claire  at 


316  faii:y  gold. 

length  went  to  seek  her,  she  found  that  she  had  retired. 
Her  room  was  in  partial  darkness,  so  that  her  face 
could  not  be  seen,  but  her  voice  sounded  altogether  as 
usual  when  she  accounted  for  her  disappearance. 

'■  I  found  that  I  was  more  tired  than  I  had  imagined, 
by  our  da}^  of  sight-seeing,"  she  said.  "  I  grew  so 
stupid  that  flight  was  the  onl}^  resource.  Pra}'  make 
my  excuses  to  Mr.  Gardner.  I  vanished  while  he 
went  across  the  room,  and  I  suppose  he  was  astonished 
to  find  an  empty  chair  when  he  retui'ued." 

"Do  you  know  that  Mr.  Earle  entered  just  at  tlie 
time  you  left?"  asked  Claire,  who  had  her  suspicions 
about  this  sudden  flight. 

"Did  he?  "  said  Marion,  in  a  tone  of  indifference. 
"  Fortunately,  it  is  not  necessary  to  make  my  excuses 
to  him.  There  is  no  more  reason  why  he  should  wish 
to  see  me  than  why  I  should  wish  to  see  him.  Another 
time  will  answer  as  well  to  exchange  some  common- 
places of  greeting.  Good-night,  dear!  Don't  let  me 
detain  you  longer  from  your  friends." 

"  I  am  so  sorry  you  are  tired !  Hereafter  we  must 
be  more  moderate  in  sight-seeing,"  observed  Chiiie. 

As  she  went  out  of  the  room  she  said  to  herself  that 
she  must  wait  before  she  could  decide  anything  with 
regard  to  the  feelings  of  these  two  people.  Was  their 
ahenation  real  and  complete?  One  seemed  as  cold 
and  indifferent  as  the  other.  But  did  this  coldness  only 
mask  the  old  affection,  or  was  it  genuine?  Claire  had 
some  instincts  which  seldom  misled  her,  and  one  of 
these  instincts  made  her  fear  that  the  indifference  was 
more  genuine  with  Earle  than  with  Marion.  "  That 
would  be  terrible,"  she  said  to  herself:  "if  he  has 
forgotten  and  she  has  not.     If  it  were  only  possible 


FAIBY   GOLD.  317 

that  they  would  tell  the  simple  truth !  But  that,  I 
suppose,  cannot  be  expected.  If  I  knew  it,  I  would 
know  how  to  act ;  but  as  it  is  I  can  only  wait  and 
observe.  I  believe,  however,  that  Marion  left  the 
room  because  he  appeared ;  and  if  his  presence  has 
such  an  effect  on  her,  she  certainly'  cares  for  Lira  yet." 

Marion  was  already  writhing  under  the  thought 
that  this  very  conclusion  would  be  drawn — perhaps 
by  Earle  himself, —  and  determining  that  she  would 
never  again  be  betrayed  into  such  weakness.  "  It 
was  the  shock  of  surprise,"  she  said  in  self- extenua- 
tion. '  •  1  was  not  expecting  anj-thing  of  that  kind, 
and  it  naturallj'  startled  me.  I  know  it  now,  and  it 
will  have  no  such  effect  a  second  time.  I  suppose  I 
might  have  looked  for  it  if  I  had  not  been  so  self- 
absorbed.  Certainly  it  is  not  only  natural,  but  very 
suitable.  They  seem  made  for  each  other;  and  I  —  I 
do  hope  thej'  maj'  be  happy.  But  I  must  go  away  as 
soon  as  I  can.     That  is  necessary." 

It  was  several  days  after  this  that  the  meeting 
between  herself  and  Earle  took  place.  She  had  been 
with  Claire  for  some  hours  in  the  galleries  of  the 
Vatican,  and  finally  before  leaving  they  entered  the 
beautiful  Raphael  Loggia  —  that  lovely  spot  filled 
with  light  and  color,  where  the  most  exquisite  crea- 
tions of  the  king  of  painters  glow  with  immortal  sun- 
shine from  the  walls.  As  tliey  ent«.'red  and  [)aced 
slowl}''  down  its  length,  a  figure  was  advancing  from 
the  other  end  of  the  luminous  vi>>ta  toward  them. 
Marion  recognized  this  figure  before  Claire  did,  and 
so  had  a  moment  in  which  to  take  firm  hold  of  her 
self-possession  before  the  latter,  turning  to  her  quickly, 
said,  "  Yonder  comes  Mr.  Earle." 


318  FAIBY   GOLD. 

"  So  I  perceive,"  replied  Marion,  quietly.  "  He 
has  not  changed  sufficiently  to  make  an  introduction 
necessary." 

The  next  moment  they  had  met,  were  shaking  hands, 
and  exchanging  greetings.  Of  the  two  Marion  pre- 
served her  composure  best.  Earle  was  surprised  by 
his  own  emotion  when  he  saw  again  the  face  that  once 
had  power  to  move  him  so  deeply.  He  had  said  to 
himself  that  its  power  was  over,  that  he  was  cured  in 
the  fullest  sense  of  that  which  he  looked  back  upon  as 
brief  infatuation  ;  but  now  that  he  found  himself  again 
in  Marion's  presence,  a  thrill  of  the  old  emotion 
seemed  to  stir,  and  for  a  moment  rendered  him  hardly 
able  to  speak. 

Conventionalities  are  powerful  things,  however,  and 
the  emotion  must  be  very  strong  that  is  not  success- 
fully held  in  check  by  them.  Claire  went  on  speaking 
in  her  gentle  voice,  giving  the  others  time  to  recover 
any  self-possession  which  they  might  have  lost. 

"  We  just  came  for  a  turn  in  this  beautiful  place 
before  going  home,"  she  said  to  Earle.  "  They  are 
my  delight,  these  loggia  of  the  Vatican.  All  the  sun- 
shine and  charm  of  Italy  seem  to  meet  in  the  divine 
loveliness  of  the  frescos  within,  and  the  beauty  of  the 
clasbic  gardens  without.  A  Papal  audience  is  never 
so  picturesque,  lam  sure,  as  when  it  is  held  in  one  of 
these  noble  galleries." 

Earle  assented  rather  absently;  then  saying,  "If 
yon  are  about  to  go  home,  I  will  see  yon  to  your  car- 
riage," turned  and  joined  them.  It  was  a  singular 
sensation  to  find  himself  walking  again  by  Marion's 
side ;  and  the  recollection  of  their  last  parting 
returned  so  vividl}"  to  his  mind  that  when  he  spoke  he 


FAIEY    GOLD.  319 

could  only  say,  "  My  poor  uncle's  life  was  much, 
shorter  than  I  imagined  it  would  be,  Miss  Lynde." 

"Yes,"  replied  Marion,  quietly.  "  His  deatli  was 
a  gnat  surprise  to  everyone.  I  am  sure  you  did  not 
think  when  you  parted  from  him  that  his  life  would 
be  numbered  only  by  weelvs." 

"  I  certainly  did  not  think  so,"  he  answered,  with 
emphasis.  Then  he  paused  and  hesitated.  Conversa- 
tion seemed  hedged  with  more  difficulties  than  he  had 
anticipated.  His  parting  with  his  uncle  had  been  so 
cioselv  connected  with  his  parting  from  Marion,  that 
he  found  it  a  subject  impossible  to  pursue.  He 
dropped  it  abruptly,  therefore,  and  remarked:  "I 
was  greatly  surprised  to  learn  from  Miss  Alford 
that  my  cousin  George  Singleton  is  alive,  and  has 
returned  from  the  wild  regions  in  which  he  buried 
himself." 

This  was  a  better  opening.  Marion  replied  that 
Mr.  Singleton's  appearance  had  astonished  ever3"one 
concerned,  but  that  his  identity  was  fully  established. 
"Indeed,"  she  added,  "I  do  not  think  there  was 
a  doubt  in  the  mind  of  any  one  after  he  made  his 
personal  appearance." 

"And  you  gave  up  your  fortune  to  him?"  said 
Earle,  wiih  a  sudden  keen  glance  at  her. 

She  colored.  "  I  did  not  feel  that  it  was  ony  fort- 
une," she  answered,  "  but  rather  his.  Surely  his 
father  must  have  believed  him  dead,  else  he  would 
never  have  made  such  a  disposition  of  his  property." 

"That  was  my  impression — that  be  believed  him 
dead.  But  it  is  difficult  to  speak  with  certainty  about 
a  man  so  peculiar  and  so  reticent  as  my  uncle.  You 
will,  perhaps,  pardon  me  for  saying  that,  since  he  had 


320  FAIET   GOLD. 

left  you  his  fortune,  I  do  not  think  you  were  bound  to 
resign  it  all." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Marion,  somewhat  coldly,  "  that 
I  was  not  bound  to  resign  any  of  it :  I  had,  no  doubt,  a 
legal  right  to  keep  whatever  the  law  did  not  take  from 
me.  But  I  am  not  so  mercenar}'^  as  you  believe.  I 
could  not  keep  what  I  did  not  believe  to  be  rightfully 
mine." 

Despite  pride,  her  voice  trembled  a  little  over  the 
last  words ;  and  Earle  was  immediately  filled  with  self- 
reproach  to  think  that  he  had  wounded  her. 

"  So  far  from  believing  3'ou  mercenary,"  he  said 
gravely,  "  I  think  that  you  have  acted  with  extraor- 
dinary generosity, —  a  generosity  carried,  indeed, 
bej'ond  prudence.  Forgive  me  for  alluding  to  the 
subject.  I  only  regret  that  my  uncle's  intentions 
toward  you  have  been  so  entirely  frustrated." 

"  I  have  the  recollection  of  his  great  kindness,"  she 
said,  hurriedly.  "  I  know  that  he  desired  to  help  me, 
therefore  I  felt  it  right  to  keep  something.  I  did  not 
leave  m3'self  penniless." 

"  You  would  have  been  wrong  if  j'ou  had  done  so," 
remarked  Earle  ;  "  but  it  would  have  been  better  still 
if  you  had  kept  a  fair  amount  of  the  fortune." 

"Oh,  no!"  she  replied;  "for  I  had  no  claim  to 
any  of  it  —  no  claim,  I  mean,  of  relationship.  I  was 
a  stranger  to  your  uncle,  and  I  onl}'  kept  such  an 
amount  as  it  seemed  to  me  a  kind-hearted  man  might 
give  to  a  strausrer  who  had  wakened  his  interest. 
Mr.  George  Singleton  was  verj^  Idud,  too.  He  wished 
me  to  keep  more,  but  I  would  not." 

"  I  understand  how  j-ou  felt,"  said  Earle ;  "  and  I 
iear  I  should  have  acted  in  the  same  manner  myself. 


FAIMY    GOLD.  321 

so  I  really  cannot  blame  you.  I  only  think  it  a 
pity." 

The  gentleness  and  respect  of  his  tone  touched  and 
pleased  her.  She  felt  that  it  implied  moi'e  approval 
and sjmpalhy  than  he  liked  to  express.  Unconsciously 
her  eyes  thanked  him  ;  and  when  they  parted  a  little 
later  in  one  of  the  courts  of  the  Vatican,  each  felt  that 
the  awkwardness  of  meeting  was  over,  and  that  there 
was  no  reason  why  they  should  shrink  from  meeting 
again. 

''  I  have  wronged  her,"  said  Earle  to  himself  as  he 
strolled  away.  "  She  is  not  the  absolutely  merce- 
nary and  heartless  creature  I  had  come  to  believe  her. 
I  might  have  known  that  I  was  wrong,  or  Miss  Alford 
would  not  make  a  friend  of  her.  Whoever  sJie  likes 
must  be  worthy  of  being  liked." 


21 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

IT  was  soon  apparent  to  Marion  that  Claire's  talent 
was  as  fully  recognized  by  the  artists  who 
made  her  circle  now,  as  it  had  been  by  the  nuns 
in  the  quiet  convent  she  had  left.  They  praised  her 
work,  they  asked  her  judgment  upon  their  own,  and 
they  prophesied  a  great  future  for  her  —  a  future  of 
the  highest  distinction  and  the  most  solid  rewards. 

"  I  knew  how  it  would  be,  Claire,"  Marion  said  one 
day,  as  she  sat  in  the  studio  of  the  young  artist  watch- 
ing her  at  woi'k.  "  I  always  knew  that  you  would 
succeed,  whoever  else  failed.  Do  you  remember  our 
last  conversation  together  —  you  and  Helen  and  I  — 
the  evening  before  we  left  school,  when  we  told  one 
another  what  we  desired  most  in  life?  /said  money; 
well,  I  have  had  it,  and  was  forced  to  choose  between 
giving  it  up  or  giving  up  my  self-respect.  I  have 
found  out  already  that  there  are  worse  things  than  to 
be  poor.  Helen  said  happiness  —  poor,  dear  Helen  ! 
and  the  happiness  of  which  she  was  thinking  slipped 
out  of  her  fingers  like  a  vapor.  But  you,  Claire, — 
you  chose  something  worthy:  you  chose  success  in 
art,  and  God  has  given  it  to  you." 

"Yes,"  observed  Claire,  meditatively,  "  I  have  had 
some  success;  I  feel   within  myself  the  power  to  do 
(322) 


FAIEY   GOLD.  C::3 

good  work,  and  my  power  is  recogniz^'d  b}'^  those  whose 
praise  is  of  value.  I  feel  that  my  future  is  assured  — 
that  I  can  make  money  enough  fur  all  my  needs,  and 
also  the  fame  which  it  is  natural  for  every  artist  to 
desire.  But,  Marion,  do  you  know  that  with  this 
realization  has  come  a  great  sense  of  its  unsatisfac- 
toriness.?  There  are  days  in  which  I  lay  down  my 
brushes  and  say  to  myself  '  Cai  bono?  '  as  wearil}'  as 
the  most  world- weary  man." 

"  Claire,  it  is  impossible !  " 

Claire  smiled  a  little  sadly  as  she  went  on  mixing 
her  colors.  "It  is  very  possible  and  very  true,"  she 
said.  "  Anil  I  suppose  the  moral  of  it  is  that  there  is 
no  real  satisfaction  in  the  possession  of  any  earthly 
idt  al  We  desire  it,  we  work  for  it,  and  when  we  get 
itwe  (ind  that  it  has  no  power  to  make  us  happy.  We; 
three,  each  of  us  in  different  ways,  found  that  out,, 
Marion." 

"  But  there  was  no  similarity  in  the  ways,"  replied' 
Marion.  "■  INIine  was  an  unworthy  ideal,  and  Helen's 
a  foolish  one ;  but  3'()urs  was  all  that  it  ought  to  be, 
au'l  it  seems  to  me  that  you  should  be  perfectly  happy 
in  the  attainment  of  it." 

"  And  so  I  am  happy,"  said  Claire.  "  Do  not  mis- 
taki' me.  I  am  happy,  and  very  grateful  to  God  ;  but 
1  cannot  pretend  to  a  satisfaction  in  the  attainment  of 
m}'  wishes  which  I  do  not  find.  There  is  something 
lacking.  Though  I  love  art,  it  does  not  fill  the  needs 
of  mv  nature.  1  want  something  more  —  something 
which  I  do  not  possess  —  as  an  object,  an  incen- 
tive—" 

She  broke  off  abruptly,  and  Clarion  was  silent  for  a 
moment  from  sheer  astonishment.     That  Claire  should 


324  FAIRY   GOLD. 

feel  in  this  way  —  Claire  so  calm,  so  self-contained,  so 
devoted  to  her  art,  so  ambitious  of  success  in  it  — 
amazed  her  bej'oud  the  power  of  expression,  until 
suddenly  a  light  dawned  upon  her  and  she  seemed  to 
see  what  it  meant.  It  meant  —  ii  must  mean  —  that 
Claire  in  her  loneliness  felt  the  need  of  love,  and  the 
ties  that  love  creates.  Friends  were  all  very  well,  but 
friends  could  not  satisf}^  the  heart  in  the  fullest  sense  ; 
neither  could  the  pleasure  of  painting  pictures,  nor  the 
praise  of  critics,  however  warm.  Yes,  Claire  desired 
love  —  that  was  plain;  and  love  was  at  hand  for  her 
to  take —  love  that  Marion  had  thrown  away. 

"It  is  just  and  right,"  said  the  latter  to  herself. 
"  I  have  nothing  to  complain  of  —  nothing !  And  she 
must  not  think  that  I  will  regret  it.  I  must  find  a 
way  to  make  her  understand  this."  After  a  minute 
she  spoke  aloud  :  "  Certainly  you  have  surprised  me, 
Claire;  for  I  did  think  tliat  ^/o't  were  happy.  But  I 
suppose  the  moral  is,  as  you  say,  that  the  attainment 
of  no  object  which  we  set  before  ourselves  is  able  to 
render  us  thoroughly  satisfied.  But  3'our  pictures  are 
so  beautiful  that  it  must  be  a  pleasure  to  paint  them." 

"Genius  is  too  great  a  word  to  apply  to  me," 
remarked  Claire,  quietly.  "  But  it  is  a  pleasure  to 
paint;  I  should  be  ungrateful  bej'ond  measure  if  I 
denied  tliat.  I  have  much  happiness  in  it,  and  I  am 
more  than  content  with  the  success  God  has  granted 
me.  I  only  meant  to  say  that  it  has  not  the  power  to 
satisfy  me  completel}-.  But  that,  I  suppose,  nothing 
of  a  purely  earthly  nature  can  have," 

"Do  you  think  not?"  asked  Marion,  rather  wist- 
fully. This  is  "  a  hard  saying  "  for  youth  to  believe, 
even  after  experience   has  somewhat  taught  its  truth. 


FAIBY    GOLD.  325 

Indeed  the  belief  that  there  ma}'  be  lasting  good  in 
some  earthly  ideal,  eagerly  sought,  eagerly  desired, 
does  not  end  with  youth.  Men  and  women  pursue 
such  delusions  to  the  very  end  of  life,  and  lie  down  at 
last  in  the  arms  of  death  without  having  ever  known 
any  lasting  happiness,  or  lifted  their  eyes  to  the  one 
Ideal  which  can  alone  satisfy  the  yearning  of  their 
poor  human  hearts. 

This  glimpse  of  Claire's  inmost  feeling  was  not 
forgotten  b}'^  Marion.  It  seemed  to  her  that  it  made 
matters  plain,  and  she  had  now  no  doubt  how  the 
affair  would  end  as  regarded  Earle.  She  said  again  to 
herself,  "  I  must  go  away  ;  "  but  she  knew  that  to  go 
immediately  would  be  to  betray  herself,  and  this  she 
passionately  desired  not  to  do.  Therefore  she  did 
what  was  the  next  best  thing  —  she  avoided  Earle  as 
much  as  possible,  so  markedly  indeed  that  it  would 
have  been  impossible  for  him  to  force  himself  upon 
her  even  if  he  had  desired  to  do  so.  She  persevered 
in  this  line  of  conduct  so  resolutely  that  Claire  began 
to  think  that  some  conclusions  she  had  drawn  at  first 
were  a  mistake,  and  that  the  alienation  between  these 
two  was  indeed  final. 

But  Marion's  success  cost  her  dearly.  It  was  a 
severe  discipline  through  which  she  was  passing  —  a 
discipline  which  tried  every  power  of  her  nature,  in 
which  there  was  a  constant  struggle  to  subdue  every- 
tbino"  that  was  most  dominant  within  her.  /  Passion 
that  h-id  oTfown  stronger  with  lime,  selfishness  that  de- 
manded  what  it  desired,  vanity  that  smarted  under 
forgei fulness,  and  pride  that  longed  to  assert  itself  in 
power, —  all  of  these  struggled  against  the  resolution 
wliich  kept  them  down.  <  But  the  resolution  did  not 


326  FAIRY   GOLD. 

fail.  "  After  having  thrown  away  my  own  happiness 
by  my  own  fault,  I  will  die  before  I  sacrifice  Claire's," 
she  determined.  But  it  was  a  hard  battle  to  fight 
alone  ;  and,  had  she  relied  solely  upon  her  own  strength, 
might  never  have  been  fought  at  all,  or  at  least  would 
have  ended  very  soon.  But  Rome  is  still  Rome,  in  that 
it  offers  on  every  side  such  spiritual  aids  and  comforts 
as  no  other  spot  of  earth  affords. 

If  Marion  had  begun  to  find  mysterious  peace  in 
the  bare  little  chapel  of  Scarborough,  was  she  less 
likely  to  find  it  liere  in  these  ancient  sanctuaries  of 
faith,  these  great  basilicas  that  in  their  grandeur 
dwarf  all  other  temples  of  earth, —  that  in  their  beauty 
are  like  glimpses  of  the  heavenly  coui'ts,  and  in  their 
solemn  holiness  lay  on  the  spirit  a  s[)ell  that  language 
can  but  faintly  express?  It  was  not  long  before  this 
spell  came  upon  her  like  a  fascination.  When  the 
heavy  curtains  swung  behind  her,  and  she  passed 
from  the  sunlight  of  the  streets  into  the  cool  dimness 
of  some  vast  church ;  when  through  lines  of  glistening 
marble  columns  —  columns  quarried  for  pagan  tem- 
ples by  the  captives  of  ancient  Rome  —  she  passed  to 
chapels  rich  with  every  charm  of  art  and  gift  of 
•wealth, —  to  sculptured  altars  where  for  long  ages  the 
Divine  Victim  had  been  offered,  and  the  unceasing 
incense  of  prayer  ascended, —  she  felt  as  if  she  asked 
only  to  remain  and  steep  her  weary  heart  and  soul  in 
the  ineffable  repose  which  she  found  there. 

She  expressed  something  of  this  one  day  to  Claire, 
when  they  p;issed  out  of  Santa  Maria  Maggioi'e  into 
the  light  of  common  day ;  and  Claire  looked  at  her, 
with  a  smile  in  her  deep  grey  eyes. 

'•  Yes,"  she  said,  in  her  usual  quiet  tone,  "  I  know 


FAIRY   GOLD.  327 

that  feeling  very  well.  But  it  is  not  possible  to  have 
only  the  comfort  of  religion:  Tve  must  taste  also  the 
struggle  and  the  sacrifice  it  demands.  We  must  leave 
the  peace  of  the  sanctuary  to  fight  our  appointed 
battle  in  the  world,  or  else  we  must  make  one  great 
sacrifice  and  leave  the  world  to  find  our  home  and  work 
in  the  sanctuary.  I  do  not  think  that  will  ever  be 
your  vocation,  Marion,  so  you  must  be  content  with 
carrying  some  of  the  peace  of  the  sanctuary  back 
with  you  into  the  world.  Only,  my  dear" — her 
voice  sank  a  little,  —  "I  think  if  you  would  take  one 
decisive  step,  you  would  find  that  peace  more  real  and 
enduring." 

"I  know  what  you  mean,"  answered  Marion, 
thoughtfully,  "I  cannot  tell  why  I  have  delayed  so 
long.  I  certainly  believe  whatever  the  Catholic 
Church  teaches,  because  I  am  sure  that  if  she  has  not 
the  truth  in  her  possession,  it  is  not  on  eai'th.  I  am 
willing  to  do  whatever  she  commands,  but  I  am  not 
devotional,  Claire.     I  cannot  pretend  to  be." 

"There  is  no  need  to  pretend,"  returned  Claire, 
gently;  "nor  yet  to  torment  yourself  about  your 
deficiency  iu  that  respect.  Yours  is  not  a  devotional 
nature,  Marion ;  but  all  the  more  will  your  service  be 
of  value,  because  you  will  offer  it  not  to  please  your- 
self, but  to  obey  and  honor  God.  Do  not  fear  on  that 
account,  but  come  let  me  take  yon  to  my  good  friend, 
Monsignor  R ." 

"Take  me  where  you  will,"  said  Marion.  "If  I 
can  only  retain  and  make  m}^  own  the  peace  that  I 
sometimes  feel  in  your  churches,  I  will  do  anything 
that  can  be  required  of  me." 

"I  do  not  think  you  will  find  that  anvthing  hard 


328  FAIRY    GOLD. 

will  be  required  of  you,"  observed  Claire,  with  a  smile 
that  was  almost  angelic  in  ils  sweetness  and  delight. 

And  truly  Marion  found,  as  myriads  have  found 
before  her,  that  no  path  was  ever  made  easier,  more 
like  the  guidins:  of  a  mother's  hand,  than  that  which 
led  her  into  the  Church  of  God.  So  gentle  were  the 
sacramental  steps,  and  each  so  full  of  strange,  m3-s- 
terious  sweetness,  that  this  period  ever  after  seemed 
like  a  sanctuary  in  her  life  —  a  spot  set  apart  and 
sacred,  as  hallowed  with  the  presence  of  the  Lord. 
She  had  willingly  followed  the  suggestion  of  the  good 
priest,  and  gone  into  a  convent  for  a  few  days  before 
her  reception  into  the  Church.  This  reception  took 
place  in  the  lovely  convent  chapel,  whei'e,  surrounded 
by  the  nuns,  with  onl}'  Claire  and  Mrs.  Kerr  present 
from  the  outer  world,  it  seemed  to  Marion  as  if  time 
had  indeed  rolled  back,  and  she  was  again  at  the 
besfinninof  of  life.  But  what  a  different  beginnius:! 
Looking  at  the  selfish  and  worldly  spirit  with  which 
she  had  faced  the  world  before,  she  could  only  thank 
God  with  wondering  gratitude  fof  the  lesson  He  had 
taught  so  soon,  and  the  rescue  He  had  inspired. 

When  she  found  herself  again  in  Claire's  salon,  with 
a  strange  sense  of  having  been  far  away  for  a  great 
length  of  time,  one  of  the  first  people  to  congratulate 
her  on  the  step  she  had  taken  was  Brian  Earle.  He 
was  astonished  when  Claire  told  him  where  Marion 
had  sone,  and  he  was  more  astonished  now  at  the  look 
on  her  face  as  she  turned  it  to  him.  Although  he 
could  not  define  it,  there  was  a  withdrawal,  an  aloof- 
ness in  that  face  which  he  had  never  seen  there  before. 
Nor  was  this  an  imagination  on  his  part.  Marion  felt, 
with  a  sense  of  infinite  relief,  that  she  had  been  with- 


FAIIiY    GOLD.  329 

drawn  from  the  influence  he  unconsciously  exerted 
upon  her  ;  that  it  was  no  longer  painful  to  her  to  see 
him ;  that  the  higher  feeling  in  which  she  had  been 
absorbed  had  taken  the  sting  out  of  the  purely  natural 
sentiment  that  hud  been  a  trouble  to  her.  She  felt  a 
resignation  to  things  as  they  were,  for  which  she  had 
vainly  struggled  before  ;  and,  even  while  she  was  with- 
drawn from  Eurle,  felt  a  quietness  so  great  that  it 
amounted  to  pleasure  in  speaking  to  him. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  in  answer  to  his  congratulation, 
"I  have  certainly  proved  that  all  roads  lead  to 
Rome.  No  road  could  have  seemed  less  likely  to  lead 
to  Rome  than  the  one  I  set  out  on  ;  but  here  I  am  — 
safe  in  the  spiritual  city.  It  is  a  wonder  to  me  even 
yet." 

"  It  is  not  so  great  a  wonder  to  me,"  he  replied. 
"  I  thought  even  in  Scarborough  that  you  were  very 
near  it." 

She  colored.  The  allusion  to  Scarborough  made 
her  realize  how  and  why  she  had  been  near  it  then, 
but  she  recovered  herself  quickly.  "  In  a  certain 
sense  I  was  always  near  it,"  she  said,  quietly.  "  I 
never  for  a  moment  believed  that  any  religion  was  true 
except  the  Catholic.  But  no  one  knows  better  than  I 
do  now  what  a  wide  difference  there  is  between  be- 
lieving intellectually  and  acting  practicall3^  The  grace 
of  God  is  absolutely  necessary  for  the  latter,  and 
why  He  should  have  given  that  grace  to  me  I  do  not 
know." 

"It  is  diflScuIt  to  tell  why  He  should  have  given  it 
to  any  of  us,"  observed  p]arle,  touched  and  surprised 
more  and  more.  Was  this  indeed  the  girl  who  had 
once   seemed  to  him  so  worldly  and   so  mercenary.'* 


330  FAIRY    GOLD. 

He  could  hardly  credit  the  transformation  that  had 
taken  place  in  her. 

' '  I  have  never  seen  any  one  so  changed  as  Miss 
Lynde,"  he  said  later  to  Claire.  "  One  can  believe 
any  change  possible  after  seeing  her." 

Claire  smiled.  "  You  will  perhaps  believe  now 
tliat  you  only  knew  her  superficially  before,"  she 
-replied.  "There  is  certainly  a  change  —  a  great 
change  —  in  her.  But  the  possibility  of  the  change 
-was  always  there." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

SOON  after  this  Claire  said  to  herself  that  if  these 
two  people  were  ever  to  be  brought  together 
again  it  could  only  be  by  her  exertions.  Left 
to  themselves,  it  became  more  and  more  evident  that 
such  an  event  would  never  occur.  And  Claire  had 
fully  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  it  would  be  the 
best  thing  which  could  occur ;  for  she  had  no  doubt 
of  the  genuineness  of  Marion's  regard  for  Earle  ;  and, 
while  slie  recognized  the  attraction  which  she  herself 
possessed  for  the  latter,  she  believed  that,  underlying 
this,  his  love  for  Marion  existed  still. 

"  But,  whether  it  does  or  not,  his  fancy  for  me  can 
come  to  nothing,"  she  thought;  "•  and  the  sooner  he 
knows  it,  the  better.  I  should  be  glad  if  he  could 
know  it  at  once.  If  such  a  thing  must  be  stopped, 
there  should  be  no  delay  in   the  matter." 

It  "was  certainly  no  fault  of  Claire's  that  there  was 
any  delay.  Earle's  manner  to  herself  rendered  her  so 
nervous,  especially  when  IMarion  was  present  to  wit- 
ness it,  that  she  could  hardly  control  her  inclination 
to  take  matters  in  her  own  hand,  and  utter  some 
"words  which  it  would  be  contrary  to  all  precedent  for 
a  "woman  to  utter  until  she  has  been  asked  for 
them.     But   her   eagerness   to   make    herself   under- 

(3;}i) 


332  ^  FAIBY   GOLD. 

stood  at  last  gave  her  the  opportunity  she  so  much 
desired. 

One  evening  Eai'le  inquired  about  a  picture  on 
which  she  was  engaged,  and  of  which  he  had  seen  the 
beginning  in  an  open-air  Carapagna  sl\:etch.  She 
replied  that  she  was  not  succeeding  with  it  as  she  had 
hoped  to  do ;  and  when  he  asked  if  lie  might  not  be 
permitted  to  see  it,  she  readily  assented. 

"For,  you  know,  one  is  not  always  the  best  judge 
of  one's  own  work,"  he  remarked.  "You  maybe 
discouraged  without  reason.  I  will  give  you  a  candid 
opinion  as  to  the  measure  of  your  success." 

"  If  you  will  promise  an  altogether  candid  opinion, 
you  may  come,"  she  answered  ;  ' '  for  you  were  present 
when  I  made  the  sketch,  and  so  you  can  tell  better 
than  any  one  else  if  I  have  succeeded  in  any  measure 
at  all." 

"To-morrow,  then,"  he  said, —  "may  I  come  to- 
morrow, and  at  what  hour?  " 

Claire  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  then  named  an 
hour  late  in  the  afternoon.  "  I  shall  not  be  at  leisure 
before  then,"  she  said. 

She  did  not  add  wiiat  was  in  her  thoughts — that 
at  this  hour  she  might  see  hira  alone,  since  Mrs.  Kerr 
and  Marion  generally  went  out  at  that  time  to  drive. 
It  was,  she  knew,  contrary  to  foreign  custom  for  her 
to  receive  him  in  such  a  manner;  but,  strong  in  the 
integrity  of  her  own  purpose,  she  felt  that  foreign 
customs  concerned  her  ver}^  litile. 

The  next  day,  therefore,  when  Eai'le  arrived,  he  was 
informed  that  the  ladies  were  out,  except  Miss  Alford, 
who  was  in  her  studio,  and  would  receive  him  there. 
A  little  surprised  but  very  much  pleased  by  this,  he 


FAIIiY    GOLD.  333 

followed  the  servant  to  the  room  which  Claire  used  as 
a  studio  when  she  was  not  studying  in  the  galleries  or 
in  the  studio  of  the  artist  who  was  her  master. 

It  was  a  small  apartment,  altogether  devoted  to 
work,  and  without  any  of  the  decorations  which  make 
many  studios  show-rooms  for  bric-a-brac  rather  than 
places  for  labor.  Here  the  easel  was  the  chief  article 
of  furniture,  and  there  was  little  else  beside  tables  for 
paints  and  a  few  chairs.  All  was  scrupulously  clean, 
fresh  and  airy,  however;  and,  with  Claire's  graceful 
figure  in  the  midst,  it  seemed  to  Earle,  as  he  entered, 
a  very  shrine  of  art —  art  in  the  noble  simplicity  which 
suits  it  best. 

Claire,  with  her  palette  on  her  hand,  was  standing 
before  the  easel.  She  greeted  him  with  a  smile,  and 
bade  him  come  where  he  could  command  a  sood  view 
of  the  painting.  "  Now  be  quite  candid,"  she  said; 
"  for  you  know  I  do  not  care  for  compliments." 

"And  I  hope  you  know  that  I  never  pay  them  — 
to  you,"  he  answered,  as  he  obeyed  her  and  stepped 
in  front  of  the  canvas. 

It  was  a  charming  picture,  a  typical  Campagna 
scene  —  a  ruined  mediaeval  fortress,  in  the  lower  story 
of  wliich  peasants  had  made  their  home,  and  round  the 
door  of  which  children  were  playing ;  a  group  of  cattle 
drinking  at  a  flag-grown  pool ;  and,  stretching  far  and 
wide,  the  solemn  beauty  of  the  great  plain.  The 
details  were  treated  with  great  artistic  skill,  and  the 
sentiment  of  the  picture  expressed  admirably  the 
wild,  poetic  desolation  of  this  earth,  '■'■  fatigu^e  de 
gloire,  qui  semble  didaigner  de  produire  " 

"You  have  succeeded  wonderfully,"  said  Earle, 
after  a  pause  of  some  length.     "  How  can  you  doubt 


334  FAIBY   GOLD. 

it?  Honestly,  I  did  not  expect  to  see  anything  half 
so  beautiful.  How  admirably  you  have  expressed  the 
spirit  of  the  Campagna!  " 

"  Do  you  really  think  so?"  asked  Claire,  coloring 
with  pleasure.  "Or,  rather,  I  know  that  you  would 
not  say  so  if  you  did  not  think  so,  and  therefore  1  am 
delighted  to  hear  it.  I  wanted  so  much  to  express 
that  spirit.  It  is  what  chiefly  impresses  me  whenever 
I  see  the  Campagna,  and  it  is  so  impossible  to  put  it 
in  words." 

"  You  have  put  it  here,"  said  Earle,  with  a  gesture 
toward  the  canvas.  "  Never  again  doubt  your  ability 
to  express  anything  that  you  like.  You  will  be  a 
great  painter  some  day,  Miss  Alford ;  are  you  aware 
of  that.?" 

She  shook  her  head,  and  the  flush  of  pleasure  faded 
from  her  face  as  she  turned  her  grave,  gentle  eyes  to 
him.  "  No,"  she  answered,  quietly,  "  I  do  not  think 
I  shall  ever  be  a  great  painter ;  and  I  will  tell  you 
why :  it  is  because  I  do  not  think  that  art  is  my 
vocation  —  at  least,  not  my  Ji '•si  vocation." 

"  Not  your  first  vocation  to  be  an  artist?  "  he  said, 
in  a  tone  of  the  greatest  astonishment.  "  How  can 
you  think  such  a  thing  with  the  proof  of  your  power 
before  your  eyes.'*  Wliy,  to  doubt  that  you  are  an 
artist  in  every  fibre  of  your  being  is  equivalent  to 
doubting  that  you  exist." 

"  Not  quite,"  she  answered,  smiling.  "Butindeed 
I  do  not  doubt  that  I  am  an  artist,  and  I  used  to 
believe  that  if  I  really  could  become  one,  and  be  suc- 
cessful in  the  exercise  of  art,  I  should  be  perfectly 
happy.  Now  I  have  already  succeeded  beyond  my 
hopes.     I  cannot  doubt  but  that  those  who  tell  me, 


FAIBY    GOLD.  335 • 

as  you  have  just  done,  that  I  may  be  a  painter  in  the 
truest  sense  if  I  continue  to  work,  are  right.  And 
yet  I  repeat  with  the  utmos.t  seriousness  that  I  do  not 
think  it  is  iri}''  vocation  to  remain  in  the  world  and 
devote  myself  to  art." 

Earle  looked  startled  as  a  sudden  glimpse  of  her 
meaning  came  to  his  mind.     ''  What,  then,"  he  said,, 
"  do  you  believe  to  be  your  vocation?  " 

Claire  looked  away  from  him.  She  did  not  wish  to 
see  how  hard  the  blow  she  must  deliver  would  strike. 

"I  believe,"  she  said,  quietly,  "that  it  is  my 
vocation  to  enter  the  religious  life.  God  has  given 
me  what  I  desired  most  in  the  world,  but  it  does  not . 
satisfy  me.  My  heart  was  left  behind  in  the  cloister, 
and  day  by  day  the  desire  grows  upon  me  more 
strongly  to  retnrn  there." 

"But  you  will  not!  "  said  Earle,  almost  violently. 
"It  is  impossible^ — it  would   be  a  sacrifice  such  as- 
God  never   demands!     Why   should  He   have   given 
you  such  great  talent  if  He  wished  j'ou  to  bury  it  in 
a  cloister.? " 

"Perhaps  that  I  might  have  something  to  offer  to 
Him,"   answered  Claire.     "  Otherwise  I  should  have 
nothing,  you  know.     But  there  can  be  no  question  of  ' 
sacrifice  when  one  is  following  the  strongest  inclina- 
tion of  one's  heart." 

"  Y,ou  do  not  know  your  own  heart  yet,"  said 
Earle.  "You  are  following  its  first  inclination  with- 
out testing  it.  How  could  the  peace  and  charm  of 
the  cloister  fail  to  attract  you  —  you  who  seem  made 
for  it?     But—" 

Claire's  lifted  hand  stayed  his  words.  "  See," 
she  said,  "how  you  bear  testimony  to  what  I  have  > 


336  FAIRY    GOLD. 

declared.     If  I   '  seem  made '   for  the  cloister,  what 
can  that  mean  save   that  my  place  is  there?" 

"Then  is  there  no  place  for  pure  and  good  and 
lovely  people  in  the  world?  "  asked  Earle,  conscious 
that  his  tongue  had  indeed  betrayed  him. 

"Oh,  yes!"  she  answered;  "there  are  not  only 
places,  but  there  are  also  many  duties  for  such  people  ; 
and  numbers  of  them  are  to  be  met  on  all  sides.  But 
there  are  also  some  souls  whom  God  calls  to  serve 
Him  in  the  silence  and  retirement  of  the  cloister,  who 
pine  like  homesick  exiles  in  the  world.  Believe  me  I 
am  one  of  those  souls.  I  shrank  from  leaving  the  con- 
vent where  I  had  been  educated,  to  go  out  into  the 
world;  but  I  knew  what  everyone  would  say:  that  I 
was  following  a  fancy  —  an  untried  fancy  —  if  I 
stayed.  So  I  went;  and,  as  if  to  test  me,  everything 
that  I  desired  has  been  given  me,  and  given  without 
the  delays  and  disappointments  that  others  have  had 
to  endure.  The  world  has  shown  me  only  its  fairest 
side,  yet  the  call  to  something  better  and  higher  has 
daily  grown  stronger  within  me,  until  I  have  no  longer 
any  doubt  but  that  it  is  God's  will  that  I  shall  go." 

Earle  threw  himself  into  a  chair,  and  sat  for  a 
minute  silent,  like  one  stunned.  He  felt  as  if  he  had 
heard  a  death-warrant  read  ■ —  as  if  he  was  not  only  to 
be  robbed  individualh',  but  the  world  was  to  be  robbed 
of  this  lovely  creature  with  her  brilliant  gift. 

"  What  am  I  to  sa}'  to  you.?  "  he  cried  at  length, 
in  a  half-stifled  voice.  "  This  seems  to  me  too  horri- 
ble for  belief.  It  is  like  suicide  —  the  suicide  of  the 
faculties,  the  genius  that  God  has  given  you,  —  of  all 
the  capabilities  of  3'our  nature  to  enjoy,  —  of  all  the 
beauty,  the  happiness  of  life  —  " 


FAIEY  GOLD.  337 

He  paused,  for  Claire  was  regarding  him  with  a  look 
of  amazement  and  rei)roach.  *'  You  call  yourself  a 
Catholic,"  she  said,  "  and  yet  you  can  S[)eak  in  this 
way  of  a  religious  vocation  !  " 

"  I  do  not  speak  of  religious  vocations  in  general," 
he  answered.  "  I  only  speak  of  yours.  There  are 
plenty  of  people  wiio  have  nothing  special  to  do  in  the 
world.  Let  them  go  to  the  cloister.  But  for  you  — 
you  with  3'our  wonderful  talent,  your  bright  future  — 
it  is  too  terrible  an  idea  to  be  entertained." 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said  gravely,  "  that  3'ou  not 
only  shock,  you  disappoint  me  greatly }  How  can  you 
be  a  Catholic  and  entertain  such  sentiments?  —  how 
can  you  tiiink  that  only  the  useless,  the  worn-out,  the 
disappointed  people  of  this  world  are  for  God?  I 
have  been  told  tLiat  Protestants  think  such  things  as 
that,  but  they  are  surely  strange  for  a  Catholic  to 
believe." 

"  I  do  not  believe  them,"  he  said  ;  "  I  am  sure  you 
know  that.  But  when  one  is  awfully  shocked,  one 
does  not  measure  one's  words.  You  do  not  realize 
how  close  this  comes  to  me  —  how  terrible  the  disap- 
pointment—  " 

She  cut  him  short  ruthlessly.  "  I  realize,"  she  said, 
with  a  sweet  smile,  "  that  you  are  very  kind  to  have 
such  a  good  opinion  of  me  —  to  believe  that  the  world 
will  really  sustain  any  loss  when  such  an  insignificant 
person  as  I  leave  it  for  the  cloister." 

"  Insignificant!  "  he  repeated,  with  something  like 
a  groan.  "  How  little  you  know  of  yourself  to  think 
that!  But  tell  me,  is  your  mind  unalterably  made  up 
to  this  step?  —  could  nothing  induce  you  to  change 
it?" 


338  FAIHY   GOLD. 

Her  eyes  met  his,  steady  and  calm  as  stars. 
"  Nothing,"  she  answered,  firmly  but  gently.  "  When 
God  says,  '  Come,'  one  must  arise  and  go.  There  is 
no  alternative.  As  a  preparation,  He  fills  one  with 
such  a  distaste  for  the  world,  such  a  sense  of  the 
brevity  and  unsatisfactoiiness  of  all  earthly  things, 
that  they  no  longer  have  any  power  to  attract. " 

"Not  even  human  love?"  he  asked,  almost  in  a 
whisper. 

She  shook  her  head.  "Not  when  weighed  against 
divine  love,"  she  answered. 

Jn  that  answer  everything  was  said,  and  a  silence 
fell,  in  which  Claire  seemed  to  hear  the  beating  of  her 
heart.  Would  he  be  satisfied  with  this  and  go  away 
without  forcing  her  to  be  more  explicit,  or  would  he 
persist  in  laying  on  her  one  of  the  most  painful  neces- 
sities which  can  be  laid  upon  a  woman.?  As  she 
waited  with  anxiety  for  the  solution  of  this  question, 
Earle  was  having  something  of  a  struggle  with  himself. 
The  impulse  was  strong  with  him  to  declare  unre- 
servedly what  he  felt  and  what  lie  had  ventured  to 
hope  ;  but  an  instinct  told  him  not  only  that  it  would 
be  useless,  but  that  he  would  inflict  needless  pain  upon 
Claire,  and  mar  their  friendship  by  a  memory  of  words 
that  could  serve  no  possible  purpose.  He  knew  that 
she  understood  him  ;  he  recognized  the  motive  which 
had  made  her  speak  to  him  of  a  purpose  that  he  felt 
sure  had  been  spoken  of  to  no  other  among  her  asso- 
ciates and  friends ;  and  he  was  strong  enough  to  say 
to  himself  that  he  would  keep  silence  —  that  she  should 
know  no  more  than  she  had  already  guessed  of  the 
pain  which  it  cost  him  to  hear  her  resolution. 

When  he  presently  looked  at  her,  it  was  with  a  face 


FAIEY   GOLD.  339 

pale  with  feeling,  but  calm  with  the  power  of  self-con- 
trol. "  Such  a  choice,"  he  said,  "  it  is  not  for  me  or 
for  any  other  man  to  combat.  I  only  venture  to  beg 
you  not  to  act  hastily.  It  would  be  terrible  to  take 
such  a  step  and  regret  it." 

Claire  smiled  almost  as  a  cloistered  nun  might  smile 
at  such  words.  "Do  you  think  that  one  ever  tnkes 
such  a  step  hastily?  No:  there  is  a  long  probation 
before  me ;  and  if  I  have  spoken  to  j-ou  somewliat 
prematurel^y,  it  was  only  because  I  thought  I  should 
like  you  to  know  -  " 

"  I  undet  stand,"  he  said,  as  she  hesitated.  "  It  is 
well  tliat  I  should  know.  Do  not  think  that  I  am  so 
dull  as  to  mistake  you  in  the  least.  I  am  honored  by 
your  confidence,  and  I  shall  remember  it  and  you  as 
long  as  I  live.  Now  "  —  he  rose  —  "I  must  bid  you 
good-bj'e.  I  think  of  leaving  Eome  for  a  time.  I  have 
a  friend  in  Naples  who  is  urging  me  to  join  him  in  a 
journey  to  the  East.  Can  I  do  anything  for  j^ou  in 
the  Holy  Land?" 

"You  can  pray  for  me,"  said  Claire  ;  "  and  believe 
that  wherever  I  may  be  I  shall  always  pray  for  }ou." 

"  What  better  covenant  could  be  made?  "  he  asked, 
with  a  faint  smile.  And  then,  in  order  to  preserve  his 
composure,  he  took  her  hand,  kissed  it,  and  went 
hastily  away. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

AND  so  for  Earle  those  Roman  days  ended,  with 
the  brief  dream  which  he  had  indulged  of  find- 

ino;  ill  Claire's  heart  a  response  for  the  feeling 
that  had  arisen  in  his  own.  Yet  no  disappointment  can 
be  very  keen  when  hope  has  not  been  very  great,  and 
Earle  was  well  aware  that  he  had  never  possessed  any 
ground  for  hope.  Kind  and  gentle  tis  Claire  had  been, 
he  was  always  conscious  of  something  about  her  which 
seemed  to  set  her  at  a  remote  distance, —  an  indefin- 
able manner  which  had  made  him  once  call  her  "a 
vestal  of  art."  He  understood  this  now,  but  he  had 
felt  it  before  he  understood  it,  and  so  the  lilow  was 
not  as  heavy  as  it  might  have  been  if  this  underl3dng 
instinct  had  not  existed.  A  vestal !  —  the  expression 
had  been  well  chosen  ;  for  there  was  indeed  a  vestal- 
like quality  about  her, —  a  vestal-like  charm,  which 
seemed  to  inspire  thoughts  of  cloisteral  tranquillity, 
and  keep  the  fires  of  human  passion  at  bay.  This 
exquisite  quality  had  been  her  chief  attraction  to 
Earle:  its , very  unlikeness  to  the  nature  which  had 
fascinated  him,  and  from  which  he  had  recoiled, 
uiakino;  its  charm  the  greater :  but  even  while  it 
attracted,  he  had  felt  that  it  removed  her  from  him 
and  made  hope  wear  the  guise  of  presumption. 

(340) 


FAW.  Y    GOLD.  341 

NoTV  nil  hope  was  final I3'  at  an  end ;  and,  since  it  is 
in  limnan  nature  to  resign  itself  to  the  inevitable,  the 
wound  might  be  said  to  carry  its  own  cure.  Earle 
was  aware  of  this,  and  he  left  Rome  in  no  melo- 
dramatic spirit  whatever;  but  feeling  it  best  to  go, 
in  order  to  recover  that  calm  and  health}^  control  of 
himself  and  his  own  feelings  which  had  been  lacking 
with  him  since  he  first  met  Marion  in  Scarborough. 
As  we  know  that  nature  abhors  a  vacuum,  it  is  prob- 
able that  his  attachment  to  Claire  arose  parti}'  from 
the  disappointment  of  that  prior  attachment  —  from 
the  need  of  the  heart  to  put  another  object  in  the  place 
of  that  which  had  been  dethroned ;  but,  leaving  all 
aualjsis  of  the  kind  for  the  future,  he  quietly  accepted 
the  pain  of  the  present  and  went  away. 

Marion  had  not  the  least  doubt  of  the  reason  of 
his  goinii,  although  no  word  fell  from  Claire  on  the 
subject.  She  said  to  herself  that  she  was  sorry  —  that 
she  had  hoped  to  know  that  Claire  and  himself  were 
happy  together,  since  they  suited  each  other  so  well ; 
but,  although  she  was  sincere  in  thinking  this,  there 
could  be  no  doubt  that,  despite  herself,  she  felt  his 
departure  to  be  a  relief  —  that  it  relaxed  a  strain  iu 
which  she  held  herself, —  and  that  if  a  blank  followed, 
a  sense  of  peace,  of  release  from  painful  conflict,  also 
came.  "  I  suffer  through  my  own  fault,"  she  re- 
flected; "therefore  it  is 'quite  riglit  that  I  sliould 
suffer."  And  such  acceptance  robbed  the  suffering 
of  half  its  sting. 

Two  or  three  tranquil  months  followed  —  months 
during  which  the  influences  that  surrounded  her  sank 
deep  into  Marion,  and  seemed  to  be  moulding  over 
again  the  passionate,   impulsive  nature.     Claire  was 


342  FAIRY    GOLD. 

one  of  the  foremost  of  these  influences,  as  Marion  her- 
self was  well  aware  ;  and  more  than  once  she  thought 
that  she  would  be  content  if  she  might  spend  her  life 
neai*  the  friend  who  had  always  seemed  to  her  the 
voice  of  her  better  self.  She  had  begun  to  study 
art  —  having  a  very  fair  talent, —  and  one  day  as  she 
sat  working  at  a  study  she  said  to  Claire,  who  was 
painting  busily  on  the  other  side  of  the  room: — 

"  If  I  can  ever  grow  to  be  anything  of  an  artist, 
what  a  pleasure  it  will  be  for  us  to  live  and  work 
together !  I  cannot  think  of  anything  I  should  prefer 
to  that." 

Claire  smiled  a  little.  "Nevertheless,"  she  said, 
*'  tbere  may  be  something  that  you  will  prefer  as  time 
goes  on,  although  our  association  is  very  pleasant  — 
as  pleasant  to  me  as  to  you." 

"  Is  there  anything  that  you  would  prefer?"  asked 
Marion  ;  for  something  in  the  tone  of  the  other  struck 
her  with  surprise. 

Claire  did  not  answer  for  a  moment.  Then  she  said, 
quietly:  "  Yes.  I  must  be  frank  with  you.  Thcn-e  is 
something  I  should  prefer  even  to  your  companion- 
ship, even  to  art.  I  should  prefer  to  go  back  to  the 
convent  that  I  have  never  ceased  to  regret." 

Marion's  brush  dropped  from  her  hand.  She  was 
astonished  beyond  measure,  for  it  was  the  first  intima- 
tion she  had  received  of  such  a  feeling  on  Claire's 
part.  "Go  back  to  the  convent,"  she  cried,  "  and 
give  up  you  art! —  Claire,  are  you  mad?  " 

"  Very  sane,  my  dear,"  answered  Claire,  smiling. 
*'  I  have  disliked  to  tell  you  about  it,  because  I  knew 
you  would  be  sorry.  I  am  sorry,  too,  that  it  should 
be  necessary  for   us  to  part ;  but  I  grow  daily  more 


FAIBY   GOLD.  343 

certain  that  my  vocation  lies  not  in  the  world  but  in 
the  cloister." 

"I  am  more  than  sorry  —  I  am  shocked!  "  said 
Marion.  "With  your  talent!  —  why,  all  the  artists 
whom  we  know  say  that  your  future  is  certain  to  be 
a  biilliaut  one.  And  to  bury  that  in  a  cloister! — 
Claire,  it  should  not  be  allowed!  " 

Claire  remembered  what  other  voice  had  said  this, 
almost  in  the  same  words ;  but  she  was  no  more 
moved  by  it  now  than  she  had  been  then. 

"Who  should  prevent  it?"  she  asked.  "  If  you, 
for  instance,  had  the  power,  would  you  venture  to 
prevent  it  —  to  say  that  any  soul  should  serve  the 
world  instead  of  ser\'ing  God?  " 

' '  That  is  not  a  fair  way  to  put  it.  Cannot  people 
serve  God  in  the  world  as  well  as  in  the  cloister?  " 

"  Surely  yes,  if  it  is  their  vocation  to  do  so.  But 
if  one  has  a  vocation  for  the  reliaiious  life  —  if  that 
imperative  call  is  heard,  which  cannot  be  realized 
except  by  those  who  hear  it,  bidding  one  arise  and  go 
forth, —  then  one  cannot  serve  God  as  well  in  the 
world  as  in  the  cloister." 

"  But,  Claire,  may  you  not  imagine  this  call.?  I 
cannot  believe  that  God  would  have  given  yon  such 
a  talent  if  He  had  not  meant  you  to  make  the  most 
of  it.  Think  how  much  good  you  might  do  if  you 
remained  in  the  world  —  how  much  money  you  might 
make,  as  well  as  how  much  fame  you  might  win !  " 

"My  dear,"  said  Claire,  with  gentle  solemnity, 
"how  much  will  either  money  or  fame  weigh  in  the 
scales  of  eternity  ?  I  want  to  work  for  eternity  rather 
than  for  time ;  and  I  am,  happily,  free  to  do  so  — 
to  go  back  to  the  cloister,  where  I   left   my   heart. 


344  FAIBT   GOLD. 

Do  not  make  it  painful  for  me.  Try  to  reconcile 
yourself  to  it,  and  to  believe  that  God  makes  no 
mistakes." 

"I  cannot  be  reconciled,"  said  Marion.  "It  is 
not  only  that  I  cannot  bear  to  give  you  up  —  that  I 
cannot  bear  for  you  to  resign  the  success  cf  which 
I  have  been  proud  in  anticipation, —  but  I  am  selfish, 
too.  I  think  of  my  own  life.  You  are  my  one 
anchor  in  the  world,  and  I  have  been  happy  in  the 
thought  of   our  living  together,    of    our — " 

Her  voice  broke  down  in  tears.  It  was  indeed  a 
blow  which  fell  more  heavily  than  Claire  had  reckoned 
on.  Feeling  assured  herself  what  would  be  the  end 
for  Marion,  she  overlooked  the  fact  that  Marion  her- 
self had  no  such  assurance.  In  her  disappointment 
and  her  friendlessuess  she  had  come  to  Claire  as  to  a 
secure  refuge,  and  lo !  that  refuge  was  now  about  to 
fail  her.  Emotion  overpowered  her  —  the  strong  emo- 
tion of  a  nature  which  rarely  yields  to  it, —  and  for 
some  minutes  she  was  hardly  conscious  that  Claire's 
tender  arms  were  around  her,  and  Claire's  tender 
voice  was  bidding  her  take  comfort  and  courage. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  leave  you  immediately,  nor 
even  soon,"  that  voice  said;  "  and  I  should  certainly 
not  leave  you,  under  any  circumstances,  until  I 
saw  you  well  placed  and  happy.  Dear  Marion,  do 
not  distress  yourself.  Let  us  leave  things  in  God's 
hands.     He  will  show  us  what  is  best." 

"I  am  a  wretch  to  distress  you,"  said  Marion, 
struggling  with  her  tears.  "  But  you  must  not  be- 
lieve  me  more  selfish  than  I  am.  Do  you  think  I 
should  only  miss  you  as  a  convenience  of  my  life? 
No,  it  is  you,  Claire  —  your  influence,  yourself  —  that 


FAIRY   GOLD.  345 

I  shall  miss  beyond  all  measure.  No  one  in  the 
world  can  take  your  place  with  me  — no  one!  " 

"  But  there  may  be  a  place  as  good  for  some  one 
else  to  take,"  said  Claire.  "Do  not  fear:  the  path 
will  open  before  you.  If  we  trust  God  He  will  cer- 
tainly Show  us  what  to  do.  Trust  Him,  Marion,  and 
ti'y  to  be  reconciled,  will  you  not?  " 

"  I  will  try,"  Marion  answered;  "  but  I  fear  that 
I  never  can  be.  You  see  now,  Claire,  how  strong  a 
hold  the  world  has  on  me.  If  I  were  good,  if  I  were 
spiritual-minded,  I  should  be  glad  for  you  to  do 
this  thing ;  but  as  it  is,  my  whole  feeling  is  one  of 
vehement  opposition." 

"That  will  not  last,"  said  Claire.  "  I  have  seen 
it  often,  even  in  people  whom  j-ou  would  have  called 
very  spiritual-minded  ;  but  it  ended  in  the  belief  that 
whatever  God  wills  is  best.  You  will  feel  that,  too, 
before  long." 

Marion  shook  her  head  sadly,  but  she  would  not 
pain  Claire  by  further  words.  Slie  felt  that  her 
resolution  was  immovable,  however  long  it  might  be 
before  it  was  executed.  "  So  there  is  nothing  for  me 
but  to  try  to  resign  myself,"  she  thought.  "I  wish 
it  were  my  vocation  that  I  might  go  with  her;  for 
everything  that  I  care  for  seems  to  slip  from  my 
grasp." 

Apart  from  resigning  herself  in  feeling,  there  was 
also  a  practical  side  of  the  question  which  she  was 
well  aware  must  be  considered.  Where  was  she  to 
go,  with  whom  was  she  to  live  when  Claire  had  left 
her,  and.  like  a  weary  dove,  flown  back  to  cloister 
shades?  She  considered  this  question  anxiously;  and 
she  had  not  arrived  at  any  definite  conclusion,  when 


346  FAIEY   GOLD. 

one  day  a  letter  came  which  made  her  utter  a  cry  of 
surprise  and  pleasure. 

"This  is  from  Helen,"  she  said,  meeting  Claire's 
glance;  "and  what  1  hoped  and  expected  has  come 
to  pass  —  she  has  promised  to  marry  Mr.  Singleton." 

"Helen!"  exclaimed  Claire,  in  a  tone  of  inure- 
duJity.     "  Why,  I  thought  he  wanted  to  marry  you." 

Marion  laughed.  "That  was  a  mistake  on  his 
part,"  she  said,  "which  fortunately  did  not  impose 
upon  me.  Perhaps  he  was  a  little  in  love  —  the  cir- 
cumstances favored  such  a  delusion,  —  but  I  am  sure 
his  ruling  motive  for  asking  me  to  marry  him  was  to 
give  me  that  share  of  the  fortune  which  he  could  not 
induce  me  to  take  in  any  other  way.  I  really  did  not 
suit  him  at  all.  I  saw  before  I  left  that  Helen  did 
suit  him,  and  I  hoped  for  just  what  has  come  to  pass. 

0  Claire,  you  don't  know  how  happy  it  makes  me! 
For  I  feel  now  as  if  I  had  in  a  measure  atoned  to 
Helen  for  the  pain  I  caused  her  about  that  wretched 
Rathborne." 

"How?"  asked  Claire,  smiling.  "By  making 
over  Mr.  Singleton  and  his  fortune  to  her?  But  I  am 
afraid  you  can  scarcely  credit  yourself  with  having 
done  that." 

"Only  indirectly,  but  it  is  certain  that  if  I  had 
accepted  him  he  could  not  be  engaged  to  her  now. 

1  am  so  glad —  so  very  glad!  He  is  really  a  good 
fellow,  and  Helen  will  be  able  to  do  a  great  deal  with 
him." 

"Is  he  a  Catholic?" 

"  She  says  that  he  has  just  been  received  into  the 
Church.  But  here  is  the  letter.  Read  it  for  your- 
self.    I  think  she  is  very  happy. ' ' 


FAIBT   GOLD.  347 

Claire  rpad  the  letter  with  interest,  and  when  she 
had  finished,  returned  it,  saying,  "Yes,  I  think  she 
is  certainly  very  happy.  Dear  Helen !  how  we  always 
said  that  she  was  made  for  happiness !  And  now  God 
seems  to  have  given  it  to  her  in  the  form  of  great 
worldly  prosperity  —  the  very  prosperity  that  you  lost. 
Are  not  His  ways  strange  to  us?  " 

"  This  is  nob  at  all  strange  to  me,"  replied  Marion. 
"  What  I  lost  would  have  ruined  me ;  what  Helen  has 
gained  will  have  no  effect  upon  her,  except  to  make 
her  more  kind  and  more  charitable.  She  is  one  of 
the  people  whom  prosperity  cannot  harm.  Therefore 
it  is  given  her  in  full  measure.  But  it  certainly  would 
have  been  singular  if  I  could  have  foreseen  that  after 
I  had  gained  my  fortune  it  would  pass  into  Helen's 
bands,  and  that  by  a  simple  process  of  retribution. 
For  if  matters  had  remained  as  they  were  between 
Rathborne  and  herself,  there  could  have  been  no 
question  of  this.  And  they  would  have  so  remained 
but  for  me." 

"  You  should  be  very  grateful,"  said  Claire,  "  that 
you  have  been  allowed  to  atone  so  fully  for  a  fault 
that  you  might  have  had  to  regret  always.  Now  it 
can  be  forgotten.  Helen  says  she  will  be  married  in 
April,  does  she  not?  " 

Marion  turned  to  the  letter,  "  Yes,  in  April  —  just 
after  Easter.  Claire,  let  us  beg  her  to  come  abroad 
for  her  wedding  journey,  and  join  us.-*" 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  Claire.  "  They  can 
come  here  for  a  little  time,  and  then  we  can  go  with 
them  to  Switzerland,  or  the  Italian  lakes,  or  wherever 
they  wish  to  go  for  the  summer.  It  will  be  pleasant 
for  us  to  be  together  once  more  —  for  the  last  time." 


348  FAinr    GOLD. 

"  Ckiire,  you  break  my  heart  Tvhen  you  talk  so!  " 
"Oh!  uo,"  said  Claire,  gently,  "  1  am  very  sure 
that  I  do  not  break  your  heart ;  and  if  I  sadden  you 
a  little,  that  is  necessar}' ;  but  it  will  not  last  long. 
There  is  no  need  to  think  of  it  now,  however  ;  ouly 
think  that  j^ou  and  Helen  and  I  will  pass  a  few  bappy 
days  together  —  for  I  suppose  Mr.  Singleton  will  not 
be  much  of  a  drawback  —  before  we  start  on  another 
and  a  different  beginning  of  life  from  that  on  which 
we  entered  when  we  left  our  dear  convent." 


EPILOGUE. 

A  YEAR  from  the  summer  day  when  three  girls 
had  stood  together  on  the  eve  of  parting  in  iheir 
convent  school-room,  the  same  three  were  seated 
together  on  the  shores  of  the  Lago  di  Como.  The 
garden  of  the  hotel  in  which  they  were  staying  ex- 
tended to  the  verge  of  the  lake,  and  they  iiad  found  a 
lovely  leafy  nook,  surrounded  by  oleander  and  m^-rtle, 
with  an  unobstructed  view  over  the  blue  sparkling 
water  and  the  beautiful  shores,  framed  by  moun- 
tains. 

'■  A  jT-ear  ago  to-day!  "  said  Marion,  meditatively, 
after  a  pause  of  some  length.  "  Do  j^ou  remember  how 
we  wondered  when  and  where  we  should  be  together 
again?  And  here  we  are,  with  an  experience  behind 
us  which  is  full  of  dramatic  changes  and  full  of 
instructions  —  at  least  for  me." 

"  Certainly  for  me  also,"  observed  Helen.  "  Look- 
ing back  on  what  I  passed  through,  I  realize  clearly 
how  foolish  we  are  to  regret  the  loss  of  things  that 
seem  to  us  desirable,  but  which  God  knows  to  be  just 
the  reverse.  How  miserable  I  was  for  a  time !  Yet 
tliat  very  misery  was  paving  the  way  for  my  present 
happiness." 

"  Ver^'  directlj',"  said  Marion  :  •'  vet  it  is  something 

(349) 


350  FAIBY    GOLD. 

I  do  not  like  to  think  of ;  for  it  misht  all  have  ended 
so  differently  but  for  the  mercy  of  God  —  and  j'ours 
too,  Helen.  You  deserve  happiness,  because  you 
were  so  gentle  and  generous  under  unhappiness.  As 
for  me,  I  deserve  nothing  good,  yet  I  have  gained 
a  great  deal  —  the  gift  of  faith,  relief  from  self- 
reproach,  and  the  great  pleasure  of  being  here  with 
you  and  Claire." 

Claire  looked  at  the  speaker  with  a  smile.  "  The 
pleasure  of  being  together  is  one  that  we  all  share," 
she  said  ;  "  and  also,  I  tliiuk,  the  sense  of  great  grati- 
tude to  God.  How  much  have  I,  for  instance,  to  be 
grateful  for  —  I  who  a  year  ago  went  forth  in^o  the 
world  with  so  much  reluctance  —  that  the  way  has 
been  made  so  clear  to  my  feet;  that  I  have  now  such 
a  sense  of  peace,  such  a  conviction  of  being  in  the 
right  path!  " 

The  others  did  not  answer.  It  was  hard  for  them  — 
partic'.ilarly  hard  for  Marion  —  to  give  full  sympathy 
on  this  point ;  for  the  pain  of  impending  separation 
was  hanging  over  them,  and  not  even  their  recoo-nition 
of  the  peace  of  which  Claire  spoke  could  make  them 
altogether  willing  to  see  her  pass  out  of  tln'ir  lives 
forever.  There  is  the  irrrevocableness  and  tlierefore 
the  pain  of  death  in  such  partings,  intensified  by  the 
fact  that  just  in  proportion  as  a  character  is  fitted  for 
the  religious  life  does  it  possess  the  virtues  to  endear 
it  most  to  those  associated  with  it  in  the  world.  In 
such  cases  renunciation  is  not  altogetlier  on  one 
side;  and  although  Marion  had  struggled  for  the 
strength  to  make  this  renunciation,  she  could  not 
ytt  control  herself  sufficiently  to  speak  of  it  Her  own 
future  looked  very  blank  to  her,  although  it  had  been. 


FAIIiY   GOLD.  351 

decided  that  she  should  remain  with  Helen,  at  least 
for  a  time,  when  Claire  left  them. 

"I  will  stay  with  you  until  after  your  return  to 
America,"  she  had  said  to  Helen  when  her  jjlaus  were 
discussed  ;  "  but  then  I  must  liud  something  to  do  — 
some  occupation  with  which  to  fill  my  life." 

Helt  n  shook  her  head.  "I  am  sure  that  George 
will  never  consent  to  that,"  she  answered. 

"And  what  has  George  to  do  with  it?"  asked 
Marion,  amused  by  the  calm,  positive  tone  of  Helen's 
speech.  "  I  am  really  not  aware  that  he  has  any  con- 
trol over  me." 

"Control  —  no,"  answered  Helen;  "but  he  feels 
that  he  owes  you  so  much  —  the  recovery  of  his 
father's  fortune  without  any  expense  or  di\ision  — 
that  he  is  anxious  to  find  something  he  can  do  for  you, 
and  he  has  said  again  and  again  how  much  he  wished 
that  you  would  allow  him  to  make  you  independent." 

"  He  could  not  make  me  independent  of  the  need 
to  fill  my  life  with  some  work  worth  the  doing,"  said 
Marion.  "  I  do  not  yet  perceive  what  it  is  to  be,  but 
no  doubt  I  shall  find  out." 

"  Of  course  you  will  find  out,"  said  Claire,  with 
her  gentle,  unquestioning  faith.  "  God  never  fails  to 
suow  the  way  to  one  who  is  willing  to  see  it." 

The  way,  however,  had  not  yet  been  made  clear  to 
Marion  as  the  three  sat  together  on  this  anniversary 
of  thf'ir  first  parting.  She  felt  the  difference  between 
herself  and  her  companions  very  keenly.  To  them 
life  showed  itself  as  a  clear  path,  which  they  had  only 
to  follow  to  be  certain  that  they  were  in  the  way  of 
duty.  All  doubts  and  perplexities  were  at  an  end  for 
Ihem,  whereas  for   her   they  seemed  only  beginning. 


352  FAIBY   GOLD. 

What,  indeed,  was  she  to  do  with  her  life  ?  She  could 
as  yet  see  no  answer  to  that  question,  and  could  only 
trust  that  in  God's  time  the  way  would  be  made  clear 
to  her. 

The  silence  after  Claire's  last  speech  lasted  some 
time  ;  for  there  seemed  little  to  be  said,  though  much 
to  be  felt,  on  the  events  of  the  past  year.  At  length 
Helen  observed,  looking  around  toward  the  hotel, 
"How  long  George  is  in  coming!  He  promised  to 
follow  us  almost  immediately,  and  I  think  we  must 
have  been  here  almost  an  hour." 

"Oh!  no,"  said  Claire,  smiling,  "not  so  long  as 
that.  But  certainly  he  has  not  fulfilled  his  promise 
of  coming  soon." 

"And  it  is  a  pity,"  continued  Helen;  "  for  just 
now  is  the  most  delightful  time  to  be  on  the  water.  I 
believe  I  will  go  and  look  for  him.  Will  any  one  else 
come?  " 

Claire,  who  was  always  in  readiness  to  do  anything 
asked  of  her,  assented  and  rose.  But  Marion  kept  her 
seat.  "  I  think  this  is  almost  as  pleasant  as  being  on 
the  water,"  she  said.  "But  when  you  have  found 
George,  and  he  has  found  a  boat,  and  all  is  in  readi- 
ness, you  may  summon  me.  Meanwhile  I  am  very 
comfortable  where  I  am." 

"  We  will  summon  you,  then,  when  we  are  ready," 
said  Helen.  And  the  two  walked  away  toward  the 
hotel. 

Marion,  who  had  still,  as  of  old,  a  great  liking  for 
solitude,  settled  herself,  after  the  others  left,  in  a  cor- 
ner of  the  bench  on  which  they  had  been  seated,  and 
looked  at  the  lovely  scene  before  her  eyes  which  saw 
its  beauty  as  in  a  dream.     She  was  living  over  her  life 


FAIBY   GOLD.  353 

of  the  past  year  while  she  gazed  at  the  distant,  ghtter- 
ing  Alpine  summits;  and  althougli  she  had  spoken 
truly  in  saying  that  she  was  deeply  conscious  of  grati- 
tude for  many  dangers  escaped,  and  chiefly  for  the 
wonderful  gift  of  faith,  there  nevertheless  remained  a 
sharp  recollection  of  failure  and  pain  dominating  all 
her  thoughts  of  the  past. 

Her  face  was  very  grave,  therefore,  and  her  brows 
knitted  with  an  expression  of  thought  or  suffering, 
when  a  man  presently  came  around  a  bend  of  the  path, 
and  paused  an  instant,  unobserved,  to  regard  her.  He 
saw,  or  fancied  that  he  saw,  many  changes  in  that  face 
since  it  had  fascinated  him  first ;  but  they  were  not 
changes  which  detracted  from  its  charm.  The  beauty 
was  as  striking  as  ever,  but  the  expression  had  altered 
much.  There  was  no  longer  a  curve  of  disdain  on  the 
perfect  lips,  nor  a  light  of  mockery  in  the  brilliant 
eyes.  The  countenance  had  softened  even  while  it 
had  grown  more  serious,  and  its  intellectual  character 
was  more  manifest  than  ever.  These  things  struck 
Brian  Earle  during  the  minute  in  which  he  paused. 
Then,  fearing  to  be  observed,  he  came  forward. 

His  step  on  the  path  roused  Marion's  attention, 
and,  turning  her  eyes  quickly  from  the  distant  scene, 
she  was  amazed  to  see  before  her  the  man  who  was 
just  then  most  clearly  in  her  thoughts. 

Startled  almost  beyond  the  power  of  self-control, 
she  said  nothing.  It  was  he  who  advanced  and  spoke. 
"Forgive  me  if  I  intrude.  Miss  Lynde  —  but  I  was 
told  that  I  should  find  you  here  ;  and  —  and  I  hoped 
that  you  would  not  object  to  seeing  me." 

Marion,  who  had  now  recovered  herself,  held  out 
her  hand  to  meet  his,  saying,  quietly,  "  Why  should  I 

23 


354  FAIBY    GOLD. 

object?  But  it  is  a  great  surprise.  I  had  no  idea  that 
you  were  in  this  part  of  the  world  at  all." 

"  Mv  arrival  here  is  very  recent,"  he  said,  sitting 
down  beside  her;  "  and  you  may  fancy  my  surprise 
when,  an  hour  after  my  arrival,  I  met  George  Single- 
ton, and  heard  the  extraordinary  news  of  his  marriage 
to  your  cousin." 

"  That  must  have  astonished  you  very  much.  We 
first  heard  of  it  after  you  left  Rome." 

"It  astonished  me  the  more,"  he  said  with  some 
hesitation,  "  because  I  bad  fancied  it  liJiely  that  in  the 
end  you  would  marry  him." 

"  I !  "  she  said,  coloring  quickly  and  vividly.  Then 
after  a  moment  she  added,  with  a  tinge  of  bitterness 
in  her  tone,  "  Such  an  idea  was  natural,  perhaps, 
considering  your  opinion  of  me.  But  it  was  a  great 
mistake." 

"  So  I  have  learned,"  he  answered.  "  But  when 
you  speak  of  my  opinion  of  you,  may  I  ask  what  you 
conceive  it  to  be?" 

"  Is  it  necessary  that  we  should  discuss  it?"  she 
asked  with  a  touch  of  her  old  haughtiness.  "  It  is 
not  of  importance  —  to  me." 

"  I  am  sure  of  that,"  he  said,  with  something  of 
humility.  "  But,  believe  me,  your  opinion  of  it 
is  of  importance  to  me.  Therefore  I  should  very 
much  like  to  know  what  you  beheve  that  I  think  of 
you." 

Her  straight  brows  grew  closer  together.  She  spoke 
with  the  air  of  one  who  wishes  to  end  a  disagreeable 
subject.  "This  seems  to  me  very  unnecessary,  Mr. 
Earle  ;  but,  since  you  insist,  I  suppose  that  you  think 
me  altogether  mercenary  and  ready,  if  the  opportunity 


FAIRY   GOLD.  3Jo 

had  been  giveu  me,  to  marry  3-OQr  cousin  for  his 
fortune." 

"  Thank  you,"  he  answered  when  she  ceased  speak- 
ing. "  I  am  much  obliged  by  your  frankness.  I 
feared  that  you  did  me  just  such  injustice ;  and  yet, 
Miss  Lynde,  how  can  you?  In  the  first  place,  do  you 
suppose  that  I  am  unaware  that  j'ou  gave  his  father's 
fortune  intact  to  my  cousin  ?  And  in  the  second  place, 
have  I  not  heard  that  you  refused  it  when  he  offered 
it  to  you  again,  with  himself?  If  I  had  ever  fancied 
you  mercenary,  cotdd  I  continue  so  to  mistake  you 
after  hearing  these  things  ?  But  indeed  I  never  did 
think  you  mercenary,  not  even  in  the  days  when  we 
differed  most  on  the  question  which  finally  diviiled  us. 
I  did  not  think  then  tliat  you  desired  wealth  for  itself, 
or  that  you  would  have  done  anything  unworthy  to 
gain  it;  but  I  thought  you  exaggerated  its  value  for 
the  sake  of  the  things  it  could  purchase,  and  I  believed 
then  (what  I  know  now)  that  you  did  injustice  to  tlie 
nobleness  of  your  own  nature  in  setting  before  your- 
self worldly  prosperity  as  your  i'leal  of  happiness." 

She  shook  her  head  a  little  sa(ll3\  "  The  less  said 
of  the  nobleness  of  my  nature  the  better,"  she  an- 
swered ;  "  but  1  soon  found  that  the  ideal  was  a  very 
poor  one,  and  one  which  could  not  satisfy  me.  I  am 
glad  your  cousin  came  to  claim  that  fortune,  winch 
might  else  have  weighed  me  down  with  its  responsi- 
bility to  the  end." 

"  And  do  you  forgive  me,"  he  said,  leaning  toward 
her  and  lowering  his  voice,  "  for  having  refused  that 
fortune  ? ' ' 

"  Does  it  matter,"  she  answered,  soraewiiat  ner- 
vousl}',  "  whether  1  forgive  you  or  not?     It  would  have 


356  FAIBY   GOLD. 

ended  in  the  same  way.  You,  too,  would  have  had  to 
give  it  up  when  your  cousin  appeared.'' 

"But,  putting  that  aside,  can  you  not  ??o^t' realize 
a  httle  better  my  motives,  and  forgive  whatevv^r  seemed 
harsh  or  dictatorial  in  my  conduct?  " 

Marion  had  grown  very  pale.  "  I  have  no  right  to 
judge  your  conduct,"  she  said. 

"You  had  a  right  then,  and  you  exercised  it 
severely.  Perhaps  I  was  too  presumptuous,  too 
decided  in  my  opinion  and  refusal.  I  have  thought 
so  since,  and  I  should  like  to  hear  you  say  that  you 
forgive  it." 

"I  cannot  imagine,"  she  said,  with  a  marked  lack 
of  her  usual  self-possession,  "  why  you  should  attach 
any  importance  to  my  forgiveness  —  granting  that  I 
have  anything  to  forgive." 

"  Can  you  not?  Then  I  will  tell  you  why  I  attach 
importance  to  it.  Because  during  these  months  of 
absence  I  have  learned  that  my  attachment  to  you  is 
as  great  as  it  ever  was  —  as  great,  do  I  sny?  Nay,  it 
is  much  greater,  since  I  know  j^ou  belter  now,  and 
the  nobleness  in  which  I  formerly  believed  has  been 
proved.  I  can  hardly  venture  to  hope  for  so  mucli 
happiness,  but  if  it  is  possible  that  you  can  think  of 
me  again,  that  you  can  forgive  and  trust  me,  I  sliould 
try,  by  God's  help,  to  deserve  your  trust  better." 

"Do  not  speak  in  that  manner,"  said  IMariou,  with 
trembling  lips,  "It  is  I  who  should  a-k  forgiveness, 
if  there  is  to  be  any  question  of  it  at  all.  But  1 1  bought 
3'ou  had  forgotten  me — it  was  surely  natural  enough, — 
and  that  when  you  went  away  it  was  because  —  on 
account  of  —  Claire." 

"You  were  right,"  he  answered,  quietly.     "  I  meant 


FAIRY    GOLD.  357 

to  tell  you  that.  In  the  reaction  of  my  disappoint- 
ment about  you,  I  thought  of  your  friend  ;  because  I 
admired  her  so  much,  I  fancied  I  was  in  love  with  her. 
But  when  she  put  an  end  to  such  fancu-s  by  tellinj; 
me  gently  and  kindlv  of  her  intention  to  enter  the 
religious  life,  I  learned  my  mistake.  The  thought  of 
her  passed  away  like  a  dream  —  like  a  shadow  that  has 
crossed  a  mirror,  —  and  I  found  that  you,  Marion,  had 
been  in  my  heart  all  the  time.  I  tested  mysilf  by 
absence,  and  I  returned  with  the  intention  of  seeking: 
you  wherever  you  .were  to  be  found,  and  asking  you  if 
there  is  no  hope  for  me  —  no  hope  of  winning  your 
heart  and  your  trust  again." 

There  was  a  moment's  pause,  and  then  she  held  out 
her  hand  to  him. 

"  You  have  never  lost  either,"  she  said. 

(The  End.) 


.^T 


